


Behind the Badge

by narcissablaxk



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Death, Dirty Talk, Everyone's a cop, F/M, Frottage, Graphic Violence, I swear!, Kidnapping, Lots of talking about knife wounds, M/M, Power Imbalance, Serial Killer, There is some romance, Washington is the Mayor, lots of blood, modern police!Au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8200627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: Anna Strong wants desperately to be a homicide detective, but when she's kidnapped on the job, she has to prove herself to survive, not for a promotion. A serial killer makes one of their own his target.





	1. You've Been Made

Anna’s hand rose to fix the blonde wig that she used to conceal her distinct dark locks. Her eyes rose from where they had been gazing at her drink, sliding down the bar. He was there, at the end, both hands wrapped around a scotch glass. His shoulders were broad, his hair shaggy and greasy. He looked like he was low on the totem pole, and now that he had been booted from the force, he was the lowest of the King’s Men, a gang that specialized in trafficking women and drugs throughout Long Island. She could see the dejection in his posture now, the defeat that his defection had brought him. He deserved it, she thought fiercely. No one in Internal Affairs should get caught on the take for a disgusting gang like the King’s Men. 

She knew him, that was true, but he didn’t know her. She was still in Vice, too low for him to care, and that would be his undoing. He was low on the totem pole, easy to rile up, quick to please. Surely he would be easy to trip up too. 

Anna slid from her leather barstool, her fake leather skirt sticking to it for a moment before it came away. She hitched her thigh high tights up her leg and sighed, trying to steady her nervous heartbeat. 

She had been used for dozens of undercover operations by now, but none of them had involved a man that had used to be a part of Culper PD. If she could bring his boss in, she could get her promotion. The word was at the tip of her tongue. 

Homicide. 

She could work alongside her best friends, Ben and Caleb. She could finally get out of these degrading outfits, stop pretending to sell herself for money only to dodge a greedy man’s paws at the last second to arrest him. She could stop feeling like a piece of meat with a badge hidden against her thigh. 

He didn’t see her when she approached, and she took that opportunity to survey her surroundings quickly before she committed to conversation with him. The smoky bar was packed with people, but hardly any of them matched the mugshots that filled the board back at the station. She could spot a couple in the dark corner, laughing and talking, their eyes straying occasionally to the man at the bar, but no one of consequence.

“You look sad,” she murmured, letting her blonde hair fall over her eye as she slid into the stool beside her mark. He turned halfway to her, his eyes falling to her cleavage, her bare legs, her long neck. 

“What’s it to you?” he asked, his voice clipped and angry. He always sounded this way. 

She leaned her chin against her hand and shrugged, knowing that the movement would send the strap of her shirt falling down her shoulder. His eyes caught the movement. 

Got you. 

“Call me an angel,” she purred, “but I don’t like to see people sad.” 

He tilted his head, his eyes rising to her own. “And what did I do to deserve an angel?” he asked, his eyes probing. For a moment, she felt nerves spike in her chest, but she fluttered her fake lashes and smiled at him. 

“Perhaps I just can’t resist a brooding man,” she coaxed, reaching out her hand to touch his face. He allowed the touch, but his eyes still studied her, as if he had some half-remembered memory at the edge of his mind that he couldn’t summon. 

Finally, he seemed to accept her. “Tell me –”

“Andy,” she provided helpfully. 

“Andy,” he continued, “are you the woman that wants to heal the brooding man? Or accept him in all his darkness?” 

She dropped her hand to his arm and squeezed. “I don’t see you as the kind of man that needs to be fixed,” she said conspiratorially. 

That seemed to be the right answer; he smirked at her and motioned to the bartender. “What are you having?” he asked. 

“Whiskey and soda,” she directed to the bartender, who gave her a nod before turning away to make it. “Now,” she turned back to him, “why is such a handsome man so sad?” 

He scoffed, the sound disdainful. “You know, Andy, I’ve worked hard my whole life to make sure that I had something I could leave behind for my family, for my wife. And then I lost my job, and I lost my wife.” 

“Oh no,” she pouted, “I’m sorry.” 

He smirked, shaking his head slightly. “No, I am. Because I did something so incredibly stupid, and now, it seems like stupid things keep happening to me.” 

She furrowed her brow. Finally, they were getting somewhere. “Stupid things?” she prompted, hoping he’d continue. 

He turned his eyes to her, searching her face. “You know, you haven’t even asked me my name yet.” 

She froze, floundering momentarily, trying to figure out how to navigate this particular slip up. Of course she didn’t ask him his name, she already knew it. But Andy didn’t. 

“I – I thought you didn’t want me to know it,” she stammered, and he chuckled, his hand landing on her wrist and tightening painfully. She hissed against the pain, trying to wrench her arm back without making a scene. 

The bartender set her drink in front of her, and she tried to catch his eye, but he was already turning away to a new patron at the other end of the bar. 

“Come on, you can do better than that,” he said quietly, his voice thick with the anger she’d heard only rumors of before now. His temper was legendary. “Who sent you here?” 

“No one.” 

“Don’t lie to me!” he stood from his seat and yanked her with him, pulling her body against his and holding her there with his other hand. To any outside watcher, they looked like an amorous couple, probably on their way to a hotel. But panic was gripping Anna harder than he was, and she frantically reached into the pocket of her skirt for her phone, desperate fingers scratching against her bare skin. 

“Come on, Andy, let’s take this outside,” he whispered into her ear, “so you don’t make a scene.” 

He practically lifted her clean off her feet to yank her outside, one hand pillowing the back of her neck like they were embracing, his other arm tight around her waist. He shouldered the door open as Anna’s hand finally closed over her cell. She fumbled with the numbers, wishing she’d kept her old flip phone that still utilized speed dial. 

“Uh uh,” he tutted at her, reaching for the phone. Anna panicked, using his momentary loosened grip on her to bolt back to the bar, screaming for help. Her fingers tapped the screen frantically, trying to call anyone, anyone. 

She had hardly managed to get to the door of the bar before he caught her again, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her back to his car. She could hear, from the phone in her hand, the sound of a call going through. 

Thank God. 

“What did I tell you?” his voice was even deeper than before and this time, when he reached for the phone, his fist closed around it, pulling it from her grip. 

“Annie?” she could hear from inside his fist. “Look, I can’t talk right now –”

“Caleb!” she screamed, bracing herself for the hit she surely must have earned. He obliged, his open hand knocking her sideways onto the street. “Help!” 

“Shit,” she heard before he dropped the phone and dropped his heavy boot onto the screen. The crunching sound of the screen sounded like the death of her hope, and as he raised his eyes to her again, her police training started to short out. What was she supposed to do now? She had been sent in without backup, without communication with the station. It was supposed to be easy, a reconnaissance mission that she could slip out of when she got the info she needed. 

But now, no one would know she was gone until tomorrow morning when she didn’t come in for her shift; that is, if Caleb didn’t start looking for her. 

“Annie, huh?” he asked, tightening his hold around her and lumbering toward his car. “You didn’t even really try to hide your identity, did you?” he chuckled to himself. “So, what division are you? Homicide? Vice? Internal Affairs? No, you couldn’t be IA, they never leave the bloody office.” 

He dropped her into the backseat of an old car, surveying her once more. She didn’t answer, but spit her bloody lip onto the pavement, wincing against the pain that the movement brought forth. He smirked at her unladylike movement, slamming the door shut behind her. 

***

Captain Edmund Hewlett had barely managed to slide into his bed, relishing in the feel of his clean sheets after a long day when his phone went off. He considered, for a long, rebellious, irresponsible moment, letting it go to voicemail. But something in the phone’s desperate jingling, along with the late hour, pushed him to pick up the phone. 

Caleb Brewster. 

“Detective Brewster,” he answered, his voice holding a clear warning tone. “If this is another drunk prank call, I will bump you back down to traffic so fast –”

“Sir, Anna Strong –”

“Who?” Edmund interrupted immediately. “I thought I told you not to set me up with any more of your perps, Brewster.” 

Caleb’s voice shuddered over the line, broken and frightened. “This isn’t a joke, sir. My friend, in vice, Anna Strong, she just called me. She needs help. I need authorization to go in alone.”

“Alone?” Edmund sat up straighter in his bed. “Brewster, that’s against protocol. And it isn’t our department.”

“She didn’t call vice, she called me!” Caleb’s voice was rising in pitch and volume, and the sound of it cracking was the only thing that stopped Edmund from pulling rank. “I have to help her.” 

“Grab Tallmadge, I’ll call whoever I need in vice,” Edmund reassured him. “Stay on the radio. I’ll be at the precinct in twenty minutes. Keep me apprised of the situation, Brewster, that’s an order.” 

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, and, after a moment, “thank you.” 

Edmund allowed himself a moment of stillness beneath the duvet cover of his bed before heaving a great sigh and getting up to get dressed again. Whoever this Anna Strong person was, she better be worth it. 

***

Benjamin Tallmadge didn’t often get a night off of work, so when he did, he liked to stretch his legs and go places he wasn’t usually expected. Sometimes he went to empty coffee shops, just about to close; sometimes he went to fetish clubs, mostly to observe, his curiosities tempted, but not tempted enough to act. Other times, he’d go to concerts, blues and jazz, mostly, but sometimes punk shows would call to him. Tonight, he stopped at a bar on the rich side of town, to treat himself to an expensive glass of wine. 

The place was just stuffy enough to constantly remind Ben that he didn’t belong here. The stools at the bar didn’t squeak; the seats weren’t made of imitation leather that was cracked in every direction. His glass of wine alone was over $30, more than enough for a cop’s budget. But it was just as decadent as he always hoped it would be.

His instincts tickled for a moment and Ben raised his eyes from his glass to catch the gaze of a man on the other side of the bar, his much larger hands around a scotch glass that had only a sliver of the drink left in it. 

The light was dim, but even in the less than forgiving lighting, Ben could see that the man was handsome, in an intimidating kind of way. As he watched, the man blinked and turned toward his companion, another man that was trying to get his attention. His eyes, despite his chin angling itself toward the other man, kept flickering back to Ben. 

Ben usually let the men in his life come to him; he didn’t want to presume, and most of the time, those men liked to chase him. But this time, he considered, for reasons he couldn’t place, walking over to the man and introducing himself. 

The situation felt precarious, like Ben was hanging at the edge of a certain cliff that he probably shouldn’t jump off of. But he couldn’t be misinterpreting; the man’s eyes were hungry, lit with a dark fire that told Ben that if he said something, he wouldn’t be rebuked. 

In fact, he would probably be rewarded. 

He had just resolved to go over there when his phone rang. The sound was jarring in the quiet establishment, and Ben’s eyes immediately went to the man across the bar. 

He was gone. 

“Caleb,” he said as greeting as he fumbled for his wallet to pay his tab. “What’s going on?” 

“It’s Annie, Tallboy. Get back to the precinct. Now.” The call ended as quickly as Caleb barked his orders; Ben swore under his breath and slid the phone into his back pocket where his wallet should go. 

A hand, familiar and large, landed on the hand that was struggling to open his wallet. “Don’t worry about it,” the man from across the bar said quietly. “It’s on me.” 

Ben faltered, lost momentarily in the man’s intense gaze. “Oh – um –”

“George,” he said, holding out his hand. 

“Ben,” he answered, almost stumbling over that as well. 

“It’s a shame you have to go, Ben,” George’s fingers just barely brushed the palm of Ben’s hand, and he was sure his entire body shivered. “I’ve never seen you here before.” His voice was deep, remarkable, and soothing, and for a moment, Ben was adrift in it before Caleb’s frantic call came back to him. Quickly, he cleared his throat. 

“Perhaps I’ll come back, then,” Ben replied, shoving his wallet into his back pocket. “I’m sorry –”

“George.” 

“Right, of course, I just got a call, and I have to go back to work –”

“Of course, don’t let me keep you,” George’s fingers were suddenly gone from Ben’s hand, and he was stepping out of the way. “Good luck.” 

***

The precinct was sleepy when Caleb plowed into the front doors, almost clearly bowling over Mary Woodhull on her way out. Her small, slight frame, coupled with the two heavy boxes of files in her arms, was an obstacle that Caleb almost couldn’t dodge in time. As it was, he had to catch her around the waist and move around her, making sure to guide her out of his way. 

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked with no malice. “You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“You better hope not,” Caleb growled, continuing his journey to his desk, where he quickly dialed three numbers and waited. “Yes, vice, I need to know Anna Strong’s assignment today.” 

“What’s wrong with Anna?” Mary asked, dropping the boxes of files on the ground and taking the seat beside Caleb’s desk. “Is she okay?” 

Caleb shook his head, listening too intently to respond. “Look, Bradford, I don’t care you who you have to clear it with, you sent your girl in there with no back up, and now you can’t find her because she got made!” Bradford protested on the other line, but Caleb cut him off. “She called me, you knob. Probably because she can’t trust any of your lot. Now I’m going to find her, and you’re going to help me or so help me god I’ll have your badge.” 

Bradford scoffed on the other line, and Caleb jerked in anger so fiercely that Mary clamped her hand down on his free hand, trying to loosen the fist. 

“I can take your badge, you shite –”

Fed up, Mary snatched the phone out of Caleb’s hand. “Bradford, is it? If something happens to Anna Strong on your watch because you sent her in there without back up, Brewster won’t be taking your badge. I will. And if you have an issue with that, you can take it up with me.” 

“Brewster’s got his girlfriend on the case, does he?” Bradford’s voice was snide, but the underlying anger was still ringing through. “And what do you do, sweetheart? You an exotic dancer? Paying your way through school?” 

“Careful, Bradford,” Mary sneered. “You’re speaking to Assistant District Attorney Woodhull, and it would be my pleasure to make sure you no longer have a badge with which to condescend women.” She slammed the phone down onto the cradle, realizing as she did so that Caleb still hadn’t gotten the information out of him that he needed. 

“Captain will get it from him in five minutes,” Caleb reassured her. “Thank you…for the threat.” 

“Something happened to Anna,” Mary prompted, and Caleb told her the story as he knew it, which was startlingly short. The idea seemed to occur to him too, as he was telling it. 

But soon, he was surrounded by his partner, Ben, and Edmund was calling Bradford again. The precinct, already sleepy late at night, was filled with a different kind of silence. 

“Benedict Arnold,” Captain Hewlett said simply. “She was tailing Arnold.”


	2. Back Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Anna continues.

The silence in the room spread thickly, like a coat of smoke, in the wake of Edmund’s announcement. A few surreptitiously exchanged glances around the room communicated all that needed to be said: the announcement didn’t make any sense. Mary, watching the seasoned policemen work through the statement silently, cleared her throat daintily, drawing their attention to her.

“Woodhull?” Edmund said, surprised, finally catching sight of her, “what are you doing here?” 

“I was just getting some files, Captain, when Detective Brewster seemed distressed,” she explained quickly. “But – if I may –”

“By all means,” Edmund agreed, and Mary turned her attention to Caleb and Ben. 

“I’m assuming you two have already deduced what I’m going to say?” she asked, and Caleb’s eyes jumped up to hers. She considered his worried gaze for a moment before she pushed harder. “The sooner we say it, the sooner we can figure out what happened.” 

“We can’t just –”

“Throwing around that accusation would be career suicide,” Ben explained. 

Mary raised her eyebrows incredulously at the partners. “If you don’t, you won’t find Anna.” Caleb nodded firmly. “If you don’t want to say it, I will. This doesn’t make any sense. Why send Anna in to tail someone as big as Arnold without back up? Without an ear piece? Without any sort of communication with her home base? No department, not even vice, would be that dumb. Arnold has proven, again and again, that he is capable and bloodthirsty. So why send her in blind?” 

“Unless they didn’t,” Edmund speculated, but Mary waved him off. 

“It’s a possibility, but that’s not exactly what I was getting at,” she said cautiously, exchanging a glance with Caleb and Ben. “Who told you that she was tailing Arnold?” 

Edmund furrowed his brows. “I have a low level friend in that department. He said he overheard Anna getting the assignment.” 

Caleb immediately picked up the phone. “I’m calling Bradford again.” 

Ben grabbed his notepad. “Captain, can you call your informant again and find out where she was going to be? We might be able to find some people that will talk.” 

Edmund considered the question for a moment before he grabbed his phone. “Yeah, he should be able to give us something. I’ll go with you. Detective Brewster?” 

Caleb glanced up from the phone, the creases in his brow deepening. 

“Keep your phone close to you; she might call again. Keep us informed.” 

“Yes, sir,” Caleb noted heavily, dialing the phone. 

“And Brewster?” 

“Yes, sir?” 

Edmund pointed to the phone. “Record that call.” He didn’t say it, but Caleb didn’t need to hear the words. If Bradford or someone in their department had deliberately sent Anna on a mission that she wasn’t supposed to come back from, they’d need more than just circumstantial evidence if they were going to accuse one of their own of corruption. If they were wrong – they were all finished. No one would trust a cop that ratted out another cop. 

Ben and Edmund’s departure left Caleb and Mary alone again, Mary watching him carefully as he pressed the buttons on the phone. 

“Bradford,” he said immediately, dropping the phone to the cradle and pressing ‘speaker.’ He put his finger to his lips, motioning for Mary to stay silent. She slipped her heeled shoes off onto the floor carefully and pulled her knees to her chest. “I need to know where you sent Strong tonight. No more bullshit.” 

“I told you already, Brewster, that I can’t give you that information,” Bradford’s voice was lazy, so nonchalant that Caleb’s face immediately tightened in anger. “You can’t just go rolling up and blowing her cover.” 

“Her cover is already blown, you idiot, and I’m going to assume you haven’t sent anyone in –”

“Brewster, relax,” Bradford interrupted. “She’s probably just pranking you. She’s working the Corner tonight, with plenty of back up. Call off your dogs and have a cold one.” 

The Corner, or the intersection of the only two streets that comprised of the red light district of Setauket. Vice commonly sent their undercovers down there in skimpy outfits for an hour a week, with a car strategically close by to clean up the buyers. Caleb had heard Anna complaining about that assignment at their weekly standing drinks meet up. 

“What was she doing here?” Caleb probed carefully, checking his phone to make sure it was still recording. “It isn’t your usual time.” 

“She got a lead on a john she wanted to bring in,” Bradford answered easily. “She asked to be on it. I remember when women had less ambition, you feel me?”

Mary sneered silently, and even Caleb rolled his eyes. “Just, check on her,” he said finally, floundering for a way to elongate the conversation. “She sounded really freaked out when she called me.” 

“I’m sure she was just leaving and decided to prank you,” Bradford said again, his voice hardening defensively. “Now quit calling me, Brewster, or I’m going to start thinking you’ve got a crush on me instead of that assistant DA chick.”

“Goodbye, Bradford,” Caleb growled, hanging up the call. His eyes met Mary’s over the desk, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. 

Liar. 

***

The Tavern was a ratty bar that, despite its nondescript road-side view, had quite a dirty reputation. The almost stucco walls were painted a fading yellow, a tell that told the story of weeks of thunderstorms followed by painfully bright sunlight. Ben leaned heavily against the hood of the car, trying to decide whether or not to go in. The Tavern was openly a haven for the less-than-honorable, and it seemed like Benedict Arnold and the rest of the King’s Men frequented this place, at least, they did tonight. 

Captain Hewlett managed to wrangle the name of the bar from his informant in vice, a rookie that Ben only knew by the name Baker, by promising to consider his application for homicide. By now, Baker knew he had spilled the wrong information, and even Ben could hear the thinly-veiled panic through the phone. The poor kid wouldn’t last in homicide. 

“Oi!” the call was half a whistle, half a shout, from a woman with ratty blonde hair near the side of the bar, hidden almost completely by shrubbery that looked more precarious than the broken glass in the parking lot. Ben trudged over to her, careful to alter his walk slightly; it wouldn’t do to get made as a cop immediately. 

“You lookin’ for fun, honey?” the woman’s front teeth were a horrifying dark brown, and Ben found himself staring at them for a moment too long. 

“Uh, oh, no,” he quickly replied. “I was supposed to pick up my friend. You seen her?” 

“Friend, you say?” something halfway between a cough and a wheeze escaped the woman, and Ben caught the overwhelming stench of cat urine and stale cigarettes. “Only woman I seen was that blonde.” 

Disappointed, Ben shook his head. “The girl I’m looking for is a brunette,” he said. 

“’s good, I s’pose,” the woman slurred, taking a long drink from a bottle covered in a paper bag. “That other one was annoying, screaming all over the place. Woke me up from my nap.” 

Ben, who had already started walking away, stumbled over his own feet to turn around. “She was screaming?” he repeated. “You’re sure.” 

“First, I thought she was just laughing, but the guy she was with smacked the shit outta her, and good thing too,” the woman grumbled, searching through her tattered clothes for something. “She wouldn’t shut the fuck up.” 

“And no one else came out to see what the commotion was?” Ben asked, his eyes already surveying the parking lot. Had Anna been hit where he was standing? Was she screaming for help while this woman just watched, annoyed that she had been woken from her slumber? 

“No one’s gonna come out here,” the woman said easily. “The amount of girls that get snatched from here, the shit I’ve seen –”

He was lost in his own thoughts, trying to map out the timeline that sent panic thrumming through his veins, but her voice cut through it. He paused, moving closer to her again. “What exactly have you seen?” 

“This is the King’s Men’s bar, pretty boy,” the woman pointed out. “What d’you think?” 

***

“She was sitting over there,” the bartender pointed to a nondescript bar stool, still open. “Blonde hair, tights, you know, the usual.” 

Edmund sighed heavily. “And what exactly would you consider ‘the usual?’ For whom?” 

The bartender shrugged. “Well, for whores, of course.” 

Edmund gave the man a tight lipped smile, his jaw clenched. He hated that word; it grated on his nerves. “That’s great,” he replied brusquely. “Can you tell me where she went?” 

“Why do you wanna know?” the bartender was suddenly suspicious, his hands disappearing beneath the bar, out of Edmund’s sight. 

Struggling not to look at the bartender’s hands, Edmund considered his next move. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t give him away as a cop? He had already asked one too many questions, or else the bartender wouldn’t have his grubby paws clutched around the barrel of a shotgun, if the distance between his arms was any indication. 

“Well – we –”

“Hey, you found my girl yet?” 

Edmund froze, his mouth still open, poised to deliver another unconvincing excuse. He knew that voice. He felt Ben’s presence sidle up beside him. His hand caught him around the shoulder. 

“I’m talking to you, idiot,” Ben’s voice was harsh, grating, the sound of a hidden accent just lingering beneath the usual timbre. “Where’d she go?” 

Edmund’s eyes slid over to Ben, his eyes a little too wide to be sincere. He cleared his throat, knowing with a quivering clarity that the bartender was carefully watching their exchange. 

“Bartender was just about to tell me, wasn’t he?” he turned the question to the bartender, who was staring at Ben curiously. 

“Who the fuck’re you?” he asked, his hands still hidden beneath the bar. 

“Rogers sent me,” Ben spat easily, and the man almost flinched. Ben wasn’t a large man, but he was certainly taller than the squirrely bartender. “He sent me to find his girl, Andy. Where is she?” 

“Rog – Rogers sent you?” the bartender quickly lifted his hands from under the bar, wiping them surreptitiously on his pants. “Let me get you a drink –”

“I asked you a fucking question,” Ben cleanly interrupted him, dropping his hands onto the bar with just enough of a thud to make the man jump, and even Edmund raised his eyebrows in his direction. The roughest word Ben had ever said in his presence was ‘damn.’ But this man was different, shaded by shadows and a grimace that terrified even Edmund, who knew Ben’s true nature. “Rogers is missin’ his girl.”

“She left with Arnold a little over an hour ago,” the bartender answered quickly. 

“Where?” 

“I – I don’t know! Look, he doesn’t tell me where he goes,” the bartender was full on shaking now, his eyes glancing at the phone. “Tell – tell Rogers I’m sorry.” 

“He’ll be very disappointed in you,” Ben sneered, the expression more arrogant and condescending than overtly threatening. “Who knows where he’d go?” He motioned to the rest of the bar. 

“None of ‘em,” the bartender replied shakily. “None of ‘em like Arnold. Whiny pissbaby, he is.” 

“What’s he drive?” Ben asked impatiently. “I’ll find him myself.” 

“Uh,” the bartender cast around for the correct answer, his brow visibly creasing in concentration the longer Ben stared at him. “A black Honda. I think it’s an Accord?” 

“Good,” Ben muttered. “Good.”

The bartender relaxed, releasing a breath that brought Ben’s gaze back to him. “Next time I see you, you’re going to answer my questions in a timely fuckin’ manner, you got that?” 

“Of course, sir, of course.” 

***

Anna wasn’t sure if she had been unconscious, or even if she was conscious now, but she felt her senses return to her slowly, one at a time. The floor beneath her, it had to be a floor, was cold, unforgiving. She could smell something in the air, something acrid. She couldn’t place it. Her arms were pinned to her sides, her cheek pressed firmly to the cold floor. 

She could taste blood in her mouth. With great effort, she spat, almost gagging at all the blood that came out, feeling a small tendril of it sneak down her throat. 

“She wakes,” Arnold’s voice was delicate, almost tender, but Anna knew better than to trust that. Arnold’s temper was as unpredictable as winter weather. For a moment, calm. The next, disaster. “Good morning, Annie.”

Annie? Anna groaned at the sound of her real name, trying to pull herself into a sitting position. But her arms wouldn’t move. She could feel now the presence of rough rope scraping against her skin. 

“Don’t try to get up,” Arnold said. “I don’t need you to sit up for this.” 

For what? Anna wanted to ask, but the sound that came out of her mouth was muffled. She shifted uncomfortably, trying in spite of Arnold’s instructions to sit up, and felt her skirt ride even higher up her waist. 

“You know, in spite of being a truly lamentable cop, you do have a pretty face,” his fingers were warm, too warm on her face, and she immediately shied away from them. That earned her a slap across the face, and she spat more blood on the floor, coughing out the rest. 

“You’ll take what I give you,” he ordered, his fingers tight around her jaw. She whimpered, unable to do more than that, and closed her eyes tighter. She didn’t want to open them. If she kept them closed, she could pretend this was all a bad dream that she would wake up from. This was sleep paralysis, she thought desperately, that’s why she couldn’t move. Arnold was just the monster that lurked near her bed that always got close but never hurt her. 

“Who are you with?” he asked, his breath hot on her face. “You never answered before.” 

She went still, her body waiting for the blow. Instead of a fist, like she was expecting, Arnold gave her a quick kick to the ribs, not even giving her a moment to take the hit before he was wrenching her into a sitting position. Anna struggled to open her eyes. One of them was swollen, almost completely swollen shut. When had she been hit in the eye? She didn’t remember. 

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see who comes looking for you, won’t we?” Arnold’s breath stunk of scotch and tobacco, and Anna could see the spots of her blood splattered across his face. 

With a jolt, Anna remembered that she managed to call Caleb before Arnold had broken her phone. Would Caleb come looking for her? For a wild moment, she hoped he wouldn’t. What would he find? Her blood on the pavement and her body in a shallow grave? 

There wasn’t much she could hope for anymore. 

A sob rattled through her, and Arnold stopped, watching her carefully. “What is this?” he asked. “Losing hope already?” he chuckled to himself. “Well, if you are a cop, you should have had back up with you.” 

Anna sobbed once more. 

“No back up?” Arnold’s voice was astonished, and the underlying pleasure in it sickened her. “Well, I suppose that’s my lucky day, isn’t it?” 

Whatever luck was on his side was the one that was damning Anna; she cast her eyes around at the walls, searching for something she could identify. The walls were cement, dirty – the floor the same. The door at the far end of the room they were in was a large one, the size of a garage. 

She had no idea where she was. 

And neither did anyone else.


	3. Fear At Your Heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the investigation moves forward as Anna tries to escape.

“A black Honda Accord,” Ben barked into the radio. “Check and see if you can match anything to Benedict Arnold specifically; if not, look for stolen vehicles. See if you can get me possible plates.” There was a long pause, as the person on the other end of the radio wrote down the necessary information. 

“I assume you want this kept quiet?” 

Ben’s eyes slid over to his boss, silently asking for permission. Edmund gave him a single nod. “As quiet as you can make it,” Ben replied. He hesitated for a moment, as if the words had gotten stuck in his throat. “Thank you, Nate.” 

“It’s no problem, Tallmadge,” the man named Nate answered easily. “I’ll call you with any update.” 

Edmund watched the cop as he worked, marveling at the change between this Benjamin Tallmadge and the one that threatened a bartender with a death grip on a shotgun. His face had softened considerably, the still young pudge around his cheeks giving him away as not quite thirty years old. 

The younger cop caught his eye as he replaced the radio in its holster. “Truth be told, I’m not sure where to go from here,” he admitted sheepishly. “No matter what we do, we’ll be showing our hand to someone.” 

Edmund furrowed his brow. “How do you see that?” 

Ben shrugged. “Well, if we call in CSU and tell them to sweep the parking lot for proof that Anna was here, we tell everyone in that building that there’s an investigation going on right now. It won’t take long for that to get back to Arnold, and he’ll take that out on Anna. If we call in an APB on the Honda, if we can find plates to go with it, and Bradford is in on whatever is happening here,” he motioned to the situation at large, “then Bradford will know we’re going to close in on him. And if we call in IA, we have to have proof of Bradford’s connection.” 

Edmund pursed his lips. “Okay, let’s say, hypothetically, that we call in CSU to sweep the parking lot. CSU is under no obligation to tell anyone what they’re looking for. We can probably find a few CSU techs that we can trust to do it. And if any of the King’s Men have any questions, we can tell them that we’re…” he searched the surrounding area for a solution, “cracking down on drugs, and we have reason to believe that a lot of dealing goes on in this parking lot.” 

“That’s a weak excuse,” Ben pointed out, turning the key in the ignition and finally pulling out of the parking lot, taking great care to move around the outside of the area, to prevent contaminating the crime scene that he had probably already walked over. 

“Weak, sure, but do you really think drugs aren’t dealt here?” Edmund asked, pointing in distaste to the uneven asphalt. “I’d say that the threat of arrest might be enough to keep them from asking any more questions until we get what we need.” 

Ben considered the option for a moment while he waited for the light to turn green. “You’re the boss,” he said finally. “I trust your judgment.” 

Edmund smiled, the confidence, however reluctantly given, bolstering him. “I think I know of a couple of CSU techs we can use, if you trust them.” 

***

“You said your name was Baker, right?” Caleb asked, surveying the man sitting across from him with a wary eye. Detective Baker was still wet behind the ears, Caleb noticed immediately. He was fidgeting where he sat, his eyes stopping at everything in the area. He was giving himself away; he had no poker face. It was reassuring, if only so that Caleb knew that what he got from Baker was the truth. 

“Yes, sir,” the younger man nodded eagerly. “Garreth Baker, vice.” 

Caleb nodded. “Garreth Baker,” he mulled the name around in his mouth. “Not really a name you hear often. Are you from Long Island?” 

“Maine,” the kid answered, because he truly did look like a kid, waiting for his punishment. Caleb gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. There was no way Baker was in on whatever Bradford was cooking up; no cop, crooked or not, in their right mind would include him on something sensitive like this. 

“Loosen up, man,” Caleb chided him, “I just want to ask you a few questions about Anna Strong.” 

Immediately, Baker tightened up. “Look, I just told Captain Hewlett what I knew, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to tell –”

“It’s alright, calm down,” Caleb snapped, and the boy fell silent. “I’m not here to tell you that you shouldn’t have said anything. I just want to know what you know, and how you came to know it.” Baker stared at him, as if Caleb had taken away his ability to speak. “Look Garreth, can I call you Garreth?” The boy shrugged. “Good, Garreth, Anna Strong is one of my best friends, and she called me tonight, screaming. Now, your boss, Bradford, the little shite, says that she was scheduled to work the Corner tonight –”

“No one is at the Corner tonight, sir,” Baker interrupted. 

Caleb smirked. “Good, see that’s what I need from you. Honesty. Now, you told Captain Hewlett that Strong had been sent to tail Arnold. How was it that you came to know that?” 

Baker’s eyes left Caleb’s and glanced around the room while he considered how to respond. “I – I don’t remember.” 

“You do remember,” Caleb replied easily. “But you don’t want to tell, because you don’t want to get anyone in trouble. Right?” 

Baker shrugged, but it was as good as a nod to Caleb. A quiet click of a high heeled shoe caught his attention; Mary stood uneasily just behind Baker, holding a little tray of coffee. She gifted him with a weak smile, jutting her chin at Baker. Caleb understood her immediately. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Woodhull,” he said graciously, standing up to offer Mary his own seat behind his desk. “Detective Baker, this is Mary Woodhull.” He slid his fingers around one of the coffee cups, his eyes lingering on Mary’s determined profile. “I’m going to grab some creamer and sugar,” he said pointedly. Mary glanced up from her scrutiny of Baker’s facial expressions and gave him a nod, her smile innocent. 

Poor Baker, Caleb thought ruefully as he retreated to the break room, his ears straining to hear what Mary said. 

To put the young detective at ease, Mary slipped her shoes off her feet and perched herself up on her legs. The movement was childlike, almost as if she wanted to appear taller, but Baker, a trained detective, caught the movement. He smiled softly at it, already calming in her presence. 

Mary struggled to hide her smirk of satisfaction. 

“Detective Baker, is it?” she asked sweetly. “I’m Mary Woodhull.” 

Baker shook her hand even though Caleb had just introduced him. Mary could feel the slight tremors in his hand, a remnant of nerves that he couldn’t quite hide. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Woodhull,” he replied. 

“Can you tell me what you know about Detective Bradford?” she asked. Baker frowned deeply, the question taking him by surprise. 

“I – uh, well –”

Mary made sure her smile hadn’t shifted as she leaned a little closer to Baker. “You know, you remind me of someone.” 

Baker immediately grabbed onto the change in subject. “I do?” 

“Yes, a friend of mine. He was a soldier,” Mary’s voice softened, and she could see Baker trying to picture this elusive person with her. “He was trustworthy, and full of ethics and goodness. I believe you and him are very similar.” 

Baker furrowed his brows. “How do you know that?” he asked. “You – you just met me.” 

He was off-balance now, just teetering on the edge of divulging something if he could just be nudged in the right way. “I did, but you see, Detective, I know all about you already,” Mary’s voice dropped to just above a whisper, and she could see Caleb take a half-step back to hear what she was saying. 

“You graduated in the top ten percent of your class in high school, but flunked out of your first year of college,” Baker opened his mouth to protest, but Mary cut him off with a wave of her hand. “It’s okay, it happens to the best of us. And then you decided that you were going to be a cop. But it wasn’t that easy, was it?” 

“Uh –”

“I mean, I imagine it wasn’t that easy, since you failed the exam twice, once for the written portion, and the other because of the physical examination,” Mary studied him carefully, taking in the wide set of his shoulders, his strong physique. “Was it because you were nervous? I don’t imagine it was because you didn’t know the material.” 

Baker’s face had flushed dark red, and Mary worried for a moment that she pushed him in the wrong direction. “I think that’s enough –”

“Sit. Down,” she ordered, dropping her bare feet to the floor. Baker immediately obliged. “I’m not outlining your faults, Detective, I’m telling you what I know. And that was after one scan of your file. If Bradford even gets a whiff,” she paused, watching Baker’s face pale, “just a whiff of you and what you’ve already told us, there will be no more upward mobility for you. Your record certainly won’t help, and if you end up on Bradford’s list, then I guess we can part ways now.” 

“I’m – I’m not really sure what you want me to say,” Baker admitted. 

“I want to know where you heard that Anna Strong was going to be tailing Benedict Arnold. Names, descriptions, anything you have,” Mary replied.

“No, no it’s nothing like that,” Baker interrupted. “I just heard Bradford tell someone that he gave Strong permission to tail Arnold tonight.” 

“Did you see who he was talking to?” Mary wheedled, finally taking a sip of her coffee. It had gone cold. 

“No,” Baker shook his head ruefully. “But they were laughing about it.” 

***

The morning dawned cold and quiet; the coming of the morning was only punctuated by the chirping of a bird, determined and loud, somewhere to Anna’s left. She squinted her eyes open, momentarily struggling to remember where she was. But Arnold’s face, turned toward her as she stirred, was a jarring reminder. She could see, in the same direction of the bird’s chirping, a few streams of sunlight. 

She didn’t dare look at it for too long. 

“Well, it’s about time,” Arnold sneered, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. “You’ve been out for hours.” 

Whose fault is that? Anna thought mutinously, but her eye, swollen shut and sore, helped her hold her tongue. She could feel the bruises on her ribs, a sharp pain near her chest, and a split lip that she tried to wet to soothe the pain. It didn’t really help. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally said when she realized that Arnold was waiting for a response. 

“You’re damn right you are,” he growled, but she could see he was momentarily pleased. “Now, I’m going to go pick up something to eat so you don’t go and die on me before I’m ready.” 

Anna stilled at his specifications. Before he was ready? But she couldn’t allow herself any time to think about what that meant; he had gotten up and was moving toward her, his stature much larger when she was curled on the floor. He grabbed the rope around her arms and yanked her upward, pulling her shoulders to a painful angle. She cried out against the white hot pain, but he ignored her. 

“I’m going to trust you,” he said in a soothing voice that wasn’t very soothing at all. He shoved her into a chair, metal and unforgiving. “This is an important step for us, do you understand?” 

Anna nodded against the rising wave of fear as he loomed closer to her. 

“Use your words, Annie,” he prompted. 

“Yes.” 

“Good,” he chirped happily, moving to his table to grab another length of rope. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. But just in case –”

Soon, her legs were tied to the cold metal of the chair, and the shivers had set in completely. The night had gotten cold, the morning promised nothing but a chill that howled through the cracks in the warehouse. There was no warmth for her here. 

If she were lucky, maybe cold would take her before Arnold did. 

Unfortunately, Arnold’s exit left her bereft; bereft of fear, of pain, of strength. She sagged against the ropes binding her to the chair and sobbed, the lack of something filled immediately by grief. She felt like she was mourning herself, her own health, her life. Arnold seemed confident that she would perish here, by his hand, at his discretion. 

Caleb still hadn’t found her; perhaps he never would. 

The bird, that traitorously happy animal, screeched again and Anna paused in her crying to listen. It echoed through the warehouse, all the way up to the high ceiling. The sunlight leaking through a small crack caught her attention again. 

Arnold had just left, she reasoned. As long as she could move, she might as well try to survive, right? 

She twisted her wrists in the ropes, trying to find any place where they could show weakness, where she could get free. All it did was pull against her already raw skin, the pain magnified from the cold. Her legs were tied, one to each leg of the chair, her feet not even touching the ground. 

She twisted her ankles, trying to loosen the bonds. They gave, but not enough for hope. She allowed herself a moment to sob, the sound rising into a hysterical scream of frustration. 

The force of her outburst yanked against the ropes of her hands, and she remembered suddenly and vividly, a memory. 

“Come on, I saw it in a movie,” Caleb argued, his hands cuffed behind his back. “You can get out of a pair of handcuffs easily; you just have to,” he struggled, drawing laughter from Anna and Ben. “You just have to –”

His face contorted in pain, and Ben fell silent immediately. “Caleb, stop. You’re going to actually hurt yourself.” 

“No, look, Benny boy, if I just bend my thumb this way –” his explanation suddenly cut off into a screech of pain so high-pitched, Anna was trying to suppress her giggles at the glare Ben sent back to her. 

“What did you do?” she asked, astonished. 

“I’m pretty sure the idiot broke his thumb,” Ben snapped, taking the handcuff key out of his pocket. “And that’s the last time we let you do this after you have any beer.” 

Caleb, his eyes watering, held up his free hand triumphantly. “But look, it worked.” 

He hadn’t broken his thumb after all, Anna rationalized as she prepared herself. He had just torn a tendon, and it had healed well enough, after a while. Gently, as if apologizing to herself, Anna took the thumb of her left hand into her palm and squeezed. 

One…two…three!

She yanked forward, feeling the same sharp pain that Caleb had described rocket through her entire arm. Her scream echoed through the warehouse, and the fluttering sound of wings told her that even the bird had flown its faithful perch because of her. 

The rope slid almost easily from her wrist now, but the new problem was finding a way to grip the rope on her other hand. Every attempt to use her left hand resulted in pain, a sharp jolt that brought tears to her eyes. How long had Arnold been gone? How long did she have? Her ears strained for any sound, any possible way of hearing where Arnold was. 

Even more terrifying than the sound of his approach, Anna heard nothing; her ears could register no traffic, no voices, no nothing. 

The idea that she was much more alone than she originally anticipated gave her the strength to pull the rope off of her right hand, and even though her whole left arm protested, she kept her vocal outburst to a quiet whimper. 

Her right hand made quick work of the ropes on her feet, and soon, Anna was jogging to the beam of light that had caught her eye, trying to ignore the numbness in her feet. Where had her shoes gone? The warehouse was as bare as her initial sweep had told her; Arnold’s table held nothing but tools, and he had taken those tools with him. There were only two chairs. 

The beam of light was coming from a crack in a sliding metal door, but as Anna pushed it, leaned all her weight on it, it refused to budge. Anna grunted and threw her whole body into the shove, but as the metal door gave way only an inch, she could hear a sound she recognized immediately: 

A chain. 

She was locked in. 

Her stomach rumbled loudly, her first indication that it had been a while since she had eaten. Frantically, knowing that her time must be running short by now, Anna surveyed her surroundings, searching for another way out. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” she muttered to herself, but she could see no more beams of light. She took to walking around the perimeter of the building, trying to find weak spots. The metal wasn’t as strong as she expected, but she still lacked the tools to get through the walls, especially with the one door chained shut. 

She kept her fingers on the metal, cradling her left arm. It didn’t hurt as much this way, she thought, but even as the thought entered her mind, a wave of pain washed over her. She paused, heaving a deep breath through her nose to steady herself. 

Her right hand came to rest on something rusted. 

She turned her gaze to it. The rust had weakened the wall, and a quick push with her hand told Anna that she could probably break the wall down. With renewed energy, she rushed to the chair and retrieved the rope she had been tied in, wrapping it around her wrist and hand. 

She gathered all of her strength and thrust her fist into the wall, grimacing as the rust only slightly gave way. Her fist wouldn’t do, she thought, casting her eyes about for a new weapon. But…maybe her foot would. 

She wrapped the rope around her foot, hoping to protect it from tetanus as much as possible, and kicked. The rusted wall groaned and bent, but did not give way. As she readied herself for another kick, she heard the first signs of someone present. 

Tires on gravel. 

Quickly, frantically, she kicked again, the rusted wall shifting just slightly. She gave up the rope and punched, the panic rising in her chest, over and over again. The pain in her knuckles was unimportant. A crack shuddered down the section of wall, and with a triumphant sound, Anna kicked the wall one more time. The metal crumbled under her foot, just enough room for her to force her leg and maybe her torso. 

She could hear the car stopping now, and the engine shutting off. With a whimper that shamed her, she shoved her foot through the opening, using her right hand to widen the gap for her torso. 

The rusted metal tore at her back, and she hissed, but it was too late now, she could not, no, would not go back. She pushed the rest of the way through the wall as Arnold’s footsteps approached. 

She could see no road. She saw nothing but a field in front of her, and a dirt road to her left. 

Arnold’s shout was enough of a threat that she went headfirst into the field and started running, prepared to never stop. 

***

“It’s been a long time since you graced the mayor’s office with your presence,” George intoned, taking a sip of his coffee. “I was beginning to think you had a better offer.” 

John Andre, district attorney, chuckled, the sound echoing around his glass. “No better offer, just too much work to do.” 

Mayor George Washington lifted his coffee cup in a show of solidarity. “I know the feeling,” he took a sip, and paused, letting the sweet liquid marinate in his mouth. “I thought your new assistant DA was promising,” he continued. 

Andre nodded. “Oh, she is,” he agreed. “But sometimes we just both get swamped.” 

“You aren’t going to sleep with this one, are you John?” George asked. “We can’t just keep replacing them when your break ups get ugly.” 

“This one is married,” Andre pointed out. “And she’s far too good of a lawyer to ever consider sleeping with me. Besides,” he added as George’s secretary came in with his briefings for the day, “I think I’m going to be swearing off women for now.” 

George followed his gaze and chuckled, thinking of the man he spotted the night before. Ben. “One vice will replace another, Andre,” he said knowingly. 

Robert Townsend hovered by George’s left elbow, waiting for the conversation to lull. “Sir, your wife would like me to remind you that you have a lunch date planned for an hour from now.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Townsend,” George said gratefully, realizing that he had, indeed, forgotten about his obligation to Martha. 

“Mr. Townsend, is it?” Andre interrupted, standing up to offer his hand to Robert. “I don’t believe I’ve met you before, are you new to the mayor’s office?” 

Robert shook his hand, marveling that the district attorney’s handshake was so soft and pliable. “Yes, sir, relatively new. And, if I may, it is a pleasure to meet the district attorney.” 

Andre inclined his head. “And it is always a pleasure to meet a constituent.” 

They were still shaking hands. George took in the sight with a smirk, and averted his gaze quickly when Andre turned back to him, releasing Robert’s hand. 

“I’ll leave you to your lunch date,” he said, gathering his overcoat in his arms and grabbing his briefcase. “But perhaps we could meet later this week for drinks?” 

“Of course,” George nodded. 

Andre turned to Robert. “And I hope your infallible assistant will be able to join us for just one…drink?” 

“Oh, I shouldn’t –”

“If Mr. Townsend would like to join us, that is of no consequence to me,” George cut him off. “I am fine with that.” 

Andre’s eyes thanked him, and Robert’s gaze was surprised. George chuckled to himself as he drained his coffee cup and passed the empty cup to Robert. If anything, at least he would have something else to think about other than Ben, whoever he was.


	4. Four Walls are Still a Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna continues her escape, Caleb makes a breakthrough.

The dirt beneath Anna’s feet was cold, but soft; the harvested crop wasn’t enough of a cover for her to hide. She was only waist high in the yellowed stalks of leftover corn, and she was painfully aware that soon, Arnold would he looking through that hole she’d made and see her running. He had a car, she was barefoot, wincing against the pain of whatever she was stepping in. 

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she fell to her knees and then went flat on her belly, hoping that she hadn’t already been spotted. If she could just stay here until nightfall, she could be safe. She could survive this. But if he had already seen her, if he was going to search this field…

She was as good as dead. 

***

“I come bearing breakfast,” Mary chirped into the stale quietness of the precinct, holding bags of McDonald’s. No one answered her; Ben bent even more laboriously over his notes, his hand resting on his phone as if he knew it would soon ring, Caleb’s eyes were trained on the monitor of his computer. The clicking of his mouse produced a quiet rhythm that made the room feel sleepy despite the crackling tension of anticipation. “Come on, Brewster, Tallmadge, you two haven’t eaten in hours. It’s time that you put something in your bellies before you keel over. You’re no help to Anna if you can’t even stand.” 

She tossed a biscuit to Caleb, who caught it deftly and tossed it onto Ben’s desk. “Eat up, Tallboy,” he demanded, unwrapping his own. Mary watched them take their first bites and sidled into Captain Hewlett’s office to leave him a couple of biscuits of his own on his desk.

“Any news?” she asked, pulling out her own breakfast, a McMuffin and a little slab of hash browns. 

“Hewlett got his friends in CSU to go sweep the parking lot,” Ben answered, making sure to swallow his bite of breakfast before he addressed her. “So far, they found some blood and hair, but they’re pretty sure the hair is synthetic.” 

“So, a wig,” Caleb clarified, his own mouth full to bursting with sausage and egg. Mary winced at him. 

“Nothing yet on the car, but we’re going to see if any traffic cams caught Arnold on his way to the Tavern,” Ben finished, flipping through more sheets of paper on his desk before tossing the file away from him. “It’s just – we aren’t making fast enough progress here.” 

“So what do you propose we do?” Mary asked. 

Ben wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood. “We need a witness,” he replied. “And I’m going to go get one.” 

“And then what?” Caleb called out as his partner grabbed his coat and stalked out of the bullpen. “Tallboy? And then what?” 

***

“Annie?” Arnold’s voice was drifting to her over a gust of wind, and almost instinctively, she started to crawl away, through the dirt. “I know you’re out here somewhere.” 

His voice was still far away enough that he hadn’t reached the field yet, but Anna knew it was only a matter of time. As quietly as she could, she pushed herself forward with her arms, the blood from her cracked knuckles leaking into the dirt. Arnold was still on the asphalt; she could hear the crack of it beneath his boots. 

“Annie?” 

She froze, listening for his movements. The boots on the asphalt stopped, and for a single, terrifying moment, Anna was sure that he had stepped into the soft dirt of the field. 

“Where are you, bitch?” 

The sound of anger running through his voice was enough to scare her into quiet sobs, hidden behind her hand. She took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of blood and dirt, and pushed herself forward again, battle crawling as far as she dared before she went still to keep herself from detection. 

“God dammit.” 

She didn’t dare look up, but she could hear Arnold’s boots on the asphalt once more, and the jingle of car keys. Could she be that lucky? The sound of the engine turning over was so welcome it brought tears to her eyes. He thought she had gotten farther away; he was going to search for her on the road. 

She listened to the car’s tires reach the paved road and continue to the right. 

“Thank God,” she whispered into her own hand. 

***

Caleb’s eyes burned with every blink; his vision blurred every time he closed his eyes, but he could not give up. He could still hear Anna’s voice in his ear, his name an echo of a scream. He wiped his eyes vigorously, relishing in the pressure that brought pain. Somehow, it was a satisfying relief. 

A cup of coffee slid into his view. “Lots of sugar, hardly any cream,” Mary’s voice was soft, soothing. She had seen him wiping his eyes; perhaps she thought he’d been crying. He took the cup gratefully and cradled it in his hand, judging the temperature of the beverage before he decided to wait a few moments to drink it. 

“Isn’t your boss going to wonder where you are?” he asked instead of thanking her. He clicked the ‘play’ button on the street cam and kept his eyes on the moving vehicles while he waited for her response. He heard her take the seat beside his desk, her common perch in the last ten hours, and listened to the deflating sigh of the cushion. 

“Probably,” she admitted quietly, bringing her own cup of coffee to her lips. “I don’t imagine that he’ll be too angry at me when he hears what I’ve been doing.” 

Caleb smirked. “I thought the golden girl of the district attorney’s office would stay far away from a conflict of interest like this.” 

She shrugged. “I would much rather be here than waiting for the phone to ring.” 

“I am surprised,” Caleb replied, watching a black car drive by on his screen, his eyes searching for the make and model. Not the right one. “I never got the impression that you liked Anna that much.” 

Mary chuckled. “Well, she was sleeping with my husband.” 

Caleb froze, trying to decide whether or not to admit that he already knew that particular tidbit of information. He could feel her eyes on him; he had already paused too long, his hand too still on the computer mouse. 

“I already know that you knew,” she relieved him of his burden, and he released a sigh. “It doesn’t matter; I was too busy with school and my career, and Abraham was struggling, especially once – that shooting –”

“He did what he had to do,” Caleb interjected brusquely. 

“I know he did,” she agreed softly. “But I don’t imagine that he’ll ever forgive himself. And he needed someone, but I was just – too busy, I suppose, to give him the attention he needed.” 

“He could have just asked you for the time,” Caleb pointed out. “Look, for the record –”

“I’m not asking you to choose sides,” Mary cut him off easily. “My point is that I don’t blame Anna, or even Abe, really. I accepted my portion of the blame a long time ago. All we can do is move forward.” 

Caleb’s eyes caught another car on the camera, this one a black Honda. With an excited yelp, he brought his hand down on Mary’s arm, cutting off her monologue. 

“What –” her eyes landed on the screen. “Is that –”

“That, my dear, is a black Honda Accord, headed to the Tavern about an hour before I got Anna’s phone call,” Caleb answered triumphantly. “And, that is a visible plate.” 

They both existed in a pure silence for half a moment before they sprung into action. 

“I’ll call the captain –” Mary rose from her seat immediately, her arm sliding out from under his hand. 

“I’ll call Ben,” Caleb replied, scooping up his phone. His heartbeat thundered loudly in his ears, pulling the walls of the bullpen close around him as he dialed. This, he thought proudly, this was what they were looking for. 

***

“No, no way, pretty boy, I ain’t gonna risk my life for some floozy in a blonde wig,” the homeless woman Ben has spoken to the night before, whose name was apparently Patience, crossed her arms and pulled her knees close to her chest, as if Ben had tried to lift her into a standing position. 

“We’re not asking you to risk your life,” Ben argued reasonably, “we just want you to identify the man you saw in a lineup. No one has to know that you were involved.” 

Patience scoffed, the sound bringing forth a thick, viscous trail of spit that brought a grimace to Ben’s face. “You think someone hasn’t already spotted us talking here?” she said, lowering her voice to a very loud whisper that failed to conceal any of her words from anyone who might be listening. “You’re already putting a target on my back, boy, get out of here.” 

“Don’t –” the ringing of his phone stopped him mid-sentence, and he fumbled with his phone, hoping, praying that something had changed. Maybe it was Anna, he thought with foolhardy naïveté. “Caleb,” he said as a greeting. 

“Tallboy, we found the car and the plate,” Caleb’s excited voice was too loud, and Ben had to pull the phone away from his ear to hear it without flinching. “We have the plate.”

Ben’s eyes landed on Patience, who was picking her teeth with a long pinkie fingernail that gave away a distinct drug habit. 

“We can’t put out an APB,” Ben replied, turning away from the woman with a grimace. “That will be showing our hand.” 

“We have some beat cops we can tell,” Caleb said, and Ben could hear him standing up from his chair. “Setauket isn’t a large city, we can put them at the two roads leading out of town. If they spot him, pull him over for a traffic violation, call us on the radio, and we can pick him up, real quick-like.” 

Ben tried to quickly go through the motions of what Caleb suggested, looking for faults, openings, and ways the information could get out anyway. It wasn’t perfect, he admitted silently to himself, but it would have to do. The longer they waited, the harder it would be to find Anna. 

“Do it,” he agreed. “And look for the cameras around the Tavern, see if you can figure out which direction he went in.” 

“You got it, Tallboy,” Caleb replied, hanging up almost immediately. 

***

Anna lost track of how long she stayed in the dirt, her face hidden in her hands, as if she could protect herself if she couldn’t see Arnold approaching. Her ears strained for any sound; she couldn’t hear his tires anymore, and his engine’s clank had long dissolved into the sound of the wind. Slowly, cautiously, she brought her head up and squinted against the sun to see as far as she could in any direction. 

Nothing. A quick glance back toward the warehouse told her that Arnold’s car was indeed gone. She rose on her feet, stretching as quickly as she could, and started jogging away from the warehouse, taking great care to stay in the remnants of the corn field, just in case. 

She was quickly out of breath, her lungs protesting at the cold air she had been breathing all night in clothes that were inappropriate for the chill that swept through Long Island at night. She wondered, if only briefly and with an inappropriate smirk, if she would escape from Arnold only to die of pneumonia. 

As the corn field faded away into a softer grass, Anna spotted a house, small enough to be called a cottage, at the back of the expanse of grass she was standing in. She could still see nothing of the city, nothing that was familiar to her. Perhaps, if she were lucky, this cottage would have a phone, or a car. 

If anything, there were four walls that she could hide behind. 

***

Billy Lee, rookie cop in the Culper Police Department, was not very accustomed to the cold yet, and the longer he waited, his eyes watching carefully for an approaching Black Honda Accord, the colder he got. He didn’t dare roll up his window, for fear that his vision would somehow be obscured by the clear glass. This was his first chance to prove that he could be trusted to move above traffic. 

He would not fail. 

Instead, he tucked his hands underneath his thighs to keep them warm and bobbed his head to “Freebird,” playing on the radio, wondering when he had deluded himself into liking this song. A voice crackled over the radio. 

“Lee?” 

It was Brewster’s voice, he knew it in a second. He fumbled with the radio, almost dropping it in his open cup of coffee, and pushed the button on the top. “Sir?” 

“Relax, I’m just making sure that you’re on the right channel,” there was a laugh in Brewster’s voice that put Billy at ease a little. 

“Channel four, sir,” he replied quickly. 

Brewster paused for a long few moments. “I know that, Lee, we’re talking on it.” 

“Right, yes, of course,” Billy stammered, resting his head gently on the steering wheel for a moment. “I’ll let you know if I see anything.” 

“Check in every hour, if you don’t mind,” Brewster corrected. “We’ve got Officer Shippen on the other side of town, so if you hear anything from her, don’t hesitate to give her backup. I’ve given her the same instructions, isn’t that right, Peg?” 

“Yes, sir,” Peggy Shippen’s voice crackled over the radio, bright and cheery. 

“Remember,” Brewster’s voice was suddenly serious, all charm evaporating. “You tell no one what you’re doing, it doesn’t matter who asks. Refer them to me. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” they answered simultaneously.

The click of the radio left Billy in an ominous silence. He fixed his eyes on the road again, letting the cold remind him what Anna (if what Brewster was saying was true) must be going through. Fear, nerves, panic. 

He would not fail her. 

Anna Strong was one of the few people that had ever been kind to Billy, a soft-hearted rookie who many believed didn’t have the gumption to be a good cop. The first time he met her, he had been sitting alone at the bar all the cops of Culper PD frequented (he didn’t remember the name anymore, he didn’t go there after that night) when she sidled into the seat beside him. 

He’d had just enough to drink to spill his guts to her, laying his anxieties, his lack of confidence, at her feet before long. She had taken it all with a smile, and a shine in her eyes that looked like she saw herself in him. 

“Never let anyone tell you that being kind is a disadvantage,” she’d confided, her voice so quiet and soft that he still wondered sometimes if he had imagined it. “That’s what makes good cops. Not cynicism, not brutality, but an enduring want to see the world become a better place, and the heart to hope that it’s possible.” 

She had that heart, he believed it fervently, and he had watched her slowly move up the ranks before she got stalled in vice. If she could do it, so could he. 

Peggy’s voice shook him out of his reverie. 

“Brewster, black Honda Accord coming into the city from the north,” she said, her voice hushed. “Read me that plate again.” 

Brewster’s voice was practically shaking with excitement. “T87GH3.” 

There was a moment of silence that felt like an eternity, before Peggy’s voice came back. “Plate confirmed.” 

Billy threw his car into drive, flicking on the lights as he did so. He peeled out into the right hand lane, turning down a back road that would take him to Peggy as fast as possible. 

“What do I do, sir?” Peggy asked. It was the first time that Billy had ever heard fear in her voice. 

“Pull him over, dammit,” Brewster said quickly, and through the radio, Billy could hear him grabbing his keys. “Tell him that one of his lights are out, and take his information. Then stay in the car until I get there. Billy?” 

“Sir?” 

“Get to her, now.” 

***

The house wasn’t much warmer inside than it was outside, Anna noticed as she slipped in through the unlocked front door. The floor was covered in what felt like a thin layer of dust, and as she closed the door, she realized it had blown in through the uneven foundation. 

She couldn’t tell if the house was lived in or not; the refrigerator had old food in it, the cabinets had non-perishable food. 

“Hello?” she called. There was no answer. “Hello?” 

After waiting what she felt was an appropriate amount of time, she grabbed a can of Spaghettios and popped the top, tipping the cold soup and noodles into her mouth without a spoon. 

Immediately, her abdomen ached, a sign that she had gone a long time without food. She tried to pace herself, but before she knew it, all of the Spaghettios were gone, and she was rummaging in the cabinet for something else to eat. 

She flicked on the faucet, and the water bubbled out yellowish orange. With a grimace, she turned it off again. There was a beer in the fridge that didn’t look too terribly old; she drank that instead, chugging most of it down before she had the self-control to stop. The taste of beer was sour and tangy in her mouth, and she had to close her eyes and breathe deeply to keep from retching. 

She lingered in the kitchen for a few moments, unwilling to check the rest of the small home. She could see no telephone; many places didn’t have a landline anymore, and even though she used to say a landline was useless with the rise of cell phones, she cursed the absence of one now. 

With a groan, she lowered herself to the kitchen floor, her almost empty beer in her hand. She had to do something now, but what? She wasn’t even sure where she was, at this point, other than outside city limits. How long had she been in the back of Arnold’s car? How far had he driven? 

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, in the slowly failing sunlight. She was exhausted; she could feel the aches in her feet now that they were warming up, and she was unsurprised to see them riddled with small cuts and punctures. Her back didn’t fare much better; she could feel the dried blood caked in the wound from the rusted wall, but she didn’t have the flexibility or the energy to clean it now. 

She must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing she knew, she was being jerked awake by the sound of tires, and approaching footsteps. She sat up immediately, realizing that she was still on the floor in the kitchen, and tried to peek out the window. 

It was a truck in the driveway, not Arnold’s car, but she shuddered to think what a solitary farmer would think if he found her in his house. Farmers had guns, didn’t they? 

She didn’t want to check. 

She considered hiding, but before she could even find a suitable place, the owner’s key was sliding into the lock, and she already knew she was busted.


	5. The Closing of One...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arnold feels the pressure, and Anna might have some good luck for the first time in a long while.

Peggy heaved a deep breath as Arnold’s car slid onto the shoulder, the emergency lights flashing, and parked her car right behind his, allowing herself a moment of pure silence to calm her anxiety before she pushed the door open. She left the keys in the ignition, the door just barely open. If Arnold was as dangerous as everyone said he was, perhaps she’d need those few fractions of a second as an advantage; but against what, she didn’t want to imagine. 

She straightened her collar on her walk to his driver’s side window, trying to resist the urge to put her hand on her weapon. Arnold would see that movement, and he would take it as a threat. The situation would escalate before she had a chance to diffuse it. Instead, she tucked her hand into the strap of her visible Kevlar vest to keep it from trembling.

The window was rolled down when she got there, and Arnold looked agitated, but not panicked. She wondered, as a cold wind gusted through her open jacket, if she looked panicked. 

“License and registration, please?” she asked, her voice sounding high and squeaky to her ears. She studied his face in the silence that followed. There was a smear of something orange near his left ear, as if he had tried to clean something on his face with iodine and hadn’t really succeeded. She wondered if it was dried and almost cleaned blood.

Arnold glared at her, as if he expected her to recognize him. He didn’t move. Peggy felt her heartbeat thunder in her ears, so loud she was sure he could hear it. Her hand, in her vest, tightened.

“Sir,” she said firmly. “License and registration.” 

“Are you fucking serious?” he asked, spitting the vulgarity at her with such fierceness that she flinched. “I’m amazed there’s a cop in this town that isn’t going to point a gun at me the second they see me.” 

She wished she could, but instead, Peggy furrowed her brows with faux-confusion. “That’s not a statement you want to be saying to a cop, sir. I asked you for your license and registration.” Arnold chuckled, a mirthless laugh that betrayed more annoyance than anything else, and finally reached into his glove compartment for registration and passed it to her. His movement over the passenger seat set her nerves on edge; her eyes bored into his hand, into the glove compartment. Would there be a weapon in there? Was she already made?

“Can you tell me why I’m being pulled over, Officer….” His eyes went to her name tag, just over her chest. “Shippen?” 

Her eyes jumped back to him as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “One of your tail lights is out, sir,” she said, trying desperately to sound nonchalant. 

“Oh,” he reached for the door handle, and panic shot through her. 

“Don’t worry about it, sir,” she said in a rush. “Stay in your vehicle. I’m just going to write up a quick citation and when you get the light fixed, you can show the citation to the court and they’ll only charge you a few dollars.” 

“Which one is it?” he asked, his hand still on the door handle. 

Peggy swallowed thickly, her ears straining for the sound of an approaching vehicle. She hoped it would be Brewster instead of Lee. At least Brewster could arrest Arnold without worrying like she was now. Moments like this one, that slowed to a crawl, with pressure so tight in her chest she worried she’d faint, Peggy wondered if she truly had the guts to be a cop. Would she ever get used to confronting terrifying people like this? Or would she always be weak at the knees, always taking shallow breaths, hoping against hope that someone was going to be there to help soon enough? 

“The left one, sir,” she said breathlessly, holding up the driver’s license and registration. “Let me just take care of this. I’ll be right back.” She clutched both items in her sweaty fist and tried to walk at a leisurely pace back to her car, but she itched to turn around, to see what Arnold was doing. Would he try to run? Or would that be too obvious? Had he already resigned himself to a parking ticket he was never going to pay?

Billy sailed by her in his car, the window rolled down, the lights and siren off. He let his eyes land on her for just a moment as he went by, trying to assess the situation. Suddenly, fear spread through Peggy. What would Arnold say if another cop pulled in behind her? He was going to get suspicious. 

Instead, she sat in her car and pretended to run his plate number, his driver’s license number, and his insurance. All of them were up to date; the car was registered to Arnold, though whether that was arrogant or just plain smart, Peggy couldn’t decide. 

She tapped her nails against the steering wheel, her eyes searching for Brewster. Where was he? 

***

Anna didn’t have time to hide; the door swung open with so much ease that she wondered if the farmer knew she was in there already. Would it be someone who was friendly with Arnold? The thought nauseated her, and she almost vomited up all of the disgusting Spaghettio’s and beer on her bare feet. 

But the woman that walked in was a slight, with long blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, and instead of noticing Anna, lurking in the darkness of the doorway from the kitchen, she noticed the empty can of food first. 

“Please don’t shoot,” Anna said softly, holding up her arms. The woman’s hand immediately went to the pistol at her waist, but she didn’t draw it. “I didn’t…I mean…”

“What are you doing in my house?” the woman asked, but she didn’t sound angry. She sounded…afraid, nervous, with an underlying current of curiosity. 

“I…” how to go about this, Anna thought. “I was kidnapped,” she said, the word sounding almost childish and fake to her ears. “I was held in that warehouse, on the other side of the field.” 

The woman didn’t say anything, so Anna kept going. 

“The man, the one who took me, he left so I ran and this was the first place I saw,” she said, unwilling to discuss who she was, what she had done, and who Arnold was, just in case. “Please, do you have a phone?” 

The woman’s hand fell from her gun and she stepped toward Anna, who flinched away from her so violently that she held up her hands, matching Anna’s pose, and moved toward her again like she would toward a caged animal. 

“I do have a phone,” she said, trying to keep her voice quiet. “But you don’t get much service out here anyway.” 

Anna sagged a little in disappointment, but the woman’s eyes were still on her face. 

“Would you be opposed to me taking you to the hospital?” the woman asked. “That eye looks like it need more medical attention than my bottle of hydrogen peroxide can give.” 

For some reason, the thought that someone would be kind enough to drive her to the hospital had never occurred to Anna. She figured she’d have to call Caleb from a stranger’s cell phone and wait for him to come get her. The hospital had never figured into her plans; but even as the woman suggested it, the pain in her back was suddenly burning hot, the ache in her thumb too real, and she was aware, once more, that she was only looking and seeing through one eye. 

She was crying, too; that she hadn’t expected. The woman moved toward her again, tucking her arm around her waist, jumping back momentarily when Anna hissed in pain, and helped her toward the door. 

***

“What is taking so long?” Arnold’s voice was a roar, struggling to be heard over the cold wind, and Peggy jumped, dropping his two documents to the floor of her car. Billy had taken her wide-eyed stare as a warning and parked a little ways away, his car idling at the gas station, trying to keep an eye on the situation without Arnold getting wise. 

She wondered how Brewster would proceed. Would he just…stay in the car? Or would he go talk to Arnold, reassure him that the computer was taking a long time? 

Be strong, Pegs, she thought to herself as she pushed the door open. 

Arnold was starting to look antsy, his face significantly paler than it was before, but his eyes were still full of life. She could see the anger swimming there, just under the surface of his faked charm. 

“Officer Shippen,” he acknowledged. “I really have somewhere I need to be, so if we could just –”

“It’ll just be a minute,” Peggy said, her voice soft in fear. “The –” Arnold glared at her, and her voice failed in her throat. “The – the computer –”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Tell me, Officer, which light is out again?” 

Shit. She floundered, her hand behind her back waving inconspicuously to Billy. “Um,” her eyes went to the tail end of the car. “The…the right.” 

He clicked his tongue, his arm dropping to the space between the seats. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey, but that’s wrong. You said it was the left.” 

As she registered that the muscle in his shoulder was working, a sign that he was pulling something of significant weight from between the seats, Peggy yanked her gun from its holster and pointed it directly at his face. “Get out of the car, Arnold.” 

He didn’t look the least bit bothered by her weapon; the sight made Peggy’s mouth go dry. “Oh, you see? That’s the kind of greeting I’m used to getting from cops.” Instead of going still, the way perps usually did, he pulled a shotgun out from between the seats, the dark brown butt of it hardly obscured at all next to his arm. How had she not seen it before? “See, I have somewhere I need to be, and someone I need to find. Your little…charade here, with your rookie partner only half a block away, is a little too obvious. I thought I’d wait to see how this played out, but my patience is at an end. So…” he lowered the aim of the gun to Peggy’s legs. “How long do you think it’ll take for you recover from a gunshot wound to the thigh?” 

“Get out of the car, Arnold,” she repeated, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’re under arrest.” 

She could hear the sirens approaching; Arnold could too. His eyes left her for just a moment to acknowledge them. “You sneaky little bitch,” he said with a trace of pride. She frowned at the sound, her hand still tight around her weapon. 

“There’s nowhere for you to go,” she said clearly. “Get out of the car.” 

The sound of the gunshot was louder than she expected; it sounded like a cannon more than a firearm. She felt the burn of the shot graze the outside of her right leg, the material of her pants tearing and burning with the bullet. She knew, in a weird, subconscious, slow-motion way, that the bullet had just grazed her, but she hadn’t expected the pain. The force of it took her down to the pavement, her gun on the ground with her. 

She watched, as though in a daze, as Arnold tried to speed away, but Brewster was coming from the north, Billy from the south, and there was nowhere to go. Tallmadge came flying out of the car as Brewster and Billy wrenched Arnold’s hands behind his back and came to rest at her side. 

“We have an officer down,” he was saying into his radio, clipped to his shoulder. “I repeat, we have an officer down.” 

He grabbed her hand as if to help her up, but she could do nothing but hold onto it like a lifeline. The pain was starting to recede, but based on the way Tallmadge was staring at her in horror, she didn’t look any better. 

“Peggy,” he said, and his voice sounded distorted, like he was yelling down a long hallway. “Pegs, you’re going into shock, I need you to try to take some deep breaths, try to stay present okay? It’s just a graze, it’s going to be fine.” 

What kind of drama queen was she, Peggy thought ruefully, to be making such a big deal out of a bullet grazing her leg? But the burn would not abate; the second she thought about the fact that she had been shot at all, the pain returned tenfold. 

“We’ve got an ambulance coming for you,” Tallmadge said reassuringly, placing his other hand over her own. “I promise.” 

***

“Do you want me to take you in?” Sarah was her name, the woman that owned the cottage. She lived there alone; her husband had died several years before, and he had run that farm. Now she hired men to come and help her maintain the crop, but she did a lot of the work herself. 

Anna shook her head. “Unless you want to be questioned by all kinds of police, I’d stay in the car.” 

Sarah nodded understandingly. “I hope they catch the piece of shit that did this to you,” she said with a fierceness that Anna recognized as similar to her own. “Because if not, I’ll kill him myself.” 

Her large, rusty truck was parked in the Emergency Room bay, its hazards flashing. Anna smiled, but didn’t know really what to say. Finally, she settled on, “Thank you.” 

Sarah nodded, and walked around to her side of the truck to open the door for her. “Be safe, Anna Strong.” 

“You too, Sarah,” Anna said, testing her own ability to walk. Sarah stayed in the bay long enough to see the doctors rush to Anna’s side, one of them pushing a gurney. Once she was safely on it, she threw her truck into gear and drove away. 

***

Peggy hated hospitals. They smelled like bleach and death, and the lights were awful. She sat in the bed, her leg bandaged, her pants cut off on one side like a demented pair of shorts, and let the pain meds run their course. The doctors had to stitch up her leg, but only five stitches, so the scar wouldn’t be that big, the doctor had reassured her with a smile. As if she cared if she had a scar. 

Tallmadge had insisted on staying with her, saying something about how he had been shot in the shoulder once, and nothing was better than knowing someone was there with you while you got your bearings back, but she had managed to send Brewster and Billy away. She didn’t want to see their bracing smiles or their questions about the pain. 

She just wanted to find Anna now; that was what was important. Arnold was refusing to say anything about her, despite the fact that blood had been discovered in his car. Brewster had flown into a fury, she’d heard, Tallmadge forced to hold him back. But they had no sign of Anna yet. 

“I bring coffee,” Tallmadge said, passing a warm cup to her. “I charmed the nurse into telling me that they are not going to keep you overnight, so you’ve only got a couple of more hours before they’ll send you home.” 

Peggy sipped the coffee gratefully. “You know you don’t have to stay and wait.” 

“You think I’m going to let you drive yourself home after being put on pain meds?” Tallmadge asked incredulously. “You’re crazy, Pegs.” 

She laughed, the sound slightly hysterical to her ears. “I suppose that would be a bad idea.” 

“Hewlett says he’ll give you all the leave you need,” Tallmadge explained. “Usually, we let you heal up before you come back, but I came back early to just linger around the bullpen and do paperwork, if that’s more your speed.” 

It was, but she didn’t have to say so; Tallmadge was smiling at her hopeful expression. “That’s what I thought,” he intoned quietly, taking a sip of his coffee. 

On the other side of the curtain, a nurse was moving things around, talking to another nurse. “That cut on her back and on her foot looks nasty; did you give her a tetanus shot already?” 

“Let me check her chart.” Some rustling. “Strong, Anna, tetanus shot, yep, about an hour after she came in.” 

Tallmadge’s hand on the cup went pure, ashen white. Peggy’s eyes met his own and for a long moment, they didn’t say anything. Could they be that lucky? He set the cup down on the table and dropped his hand to hers, silently saying he was sorry, but he would be right back. Peggy waved him off. 

“Fill me in,” she demanded quietly as he eased out of the curtains and toward the desk. Peggy could hear him quietly asking the nurses there about a patient named Anna Strong, and could he see her? Was she okay? The panic, the hope in his voice almost brought tears to Peggy’s eyes, but she rationalized that those tears were borne out of exhaustion, a combination of shock, heavy medication, and relief. 

But she just wanted someone to care about her the way everyone seemed to care about Anna Strong. That was why she joined the Force; it was a family, knit together by a badge, and not blood. That’s what she wanted; a purpose, a family to live for, and the strength to do good things. 

Tallmadge was pushing the curtain aside hurriedly. “She’s here, it’s really her. They took her into surgery, but it looks like she’s going to be okay.” There were tears shining at the corners of his eyes. “I’m going to call Caleb.” 

“Call the captain, too,” Peggy instructed. “He’ll want a break from the Arnold arrest for this kind of good news.” 

Tallmadge stepped away, his phone to his ear, and Peggy allowed herself a moment to relax against the pillows. It was done; it was over. They could all breathe easier now.


	6. The Opening of Another

Being the mayor’s secretary meant living and almost sleeping in a three-piece suit, and despite the fact that Robert loved to boast that he was comfortable in a suit, he still loosened his tie from his neck as Andre motioned for another round. He caught the district attorney’s eyes stray to his neck as he finished the motion, and swallowed thickly. He had agreed to drinks under the guise of networking, but it wouldn’t take much prodding for him to admit that it had been the sparkle of mischief in Andre’s eyes that had encouraged him. 

“Do you ever plan on moving past being the mayor’s assistant?” Andre asked, bringing the glass of scotch to his lips. “Most of George’s choices for assistants are law students.” 

“I was a journalism student just a year or so ago,” Robert admitted, bringing his own glass to his lips. It wasn’t alcohol; he never drank, but after one quick joke, Andre didn’t seem keen on making fun of him for it. “I was considering moving into politics, but after seeing what the mayor goes through on a daily basis -” 

“Ahh,” Andre said understandingly. “It is a strenuous job,” he agreed. “Though perhaps you would find law a little better suited to your tastes?” 

“I feel like I only exchanged one strenuous job for another,” Robert chuckled. “Right now, I’m happy where I am.” 

“It’s a shame,” Andre said with a smirk that prodded Robert to ask him what he meant. “I mean...you’re definitely suited to a job that requires a tie every day.” 

His hand, slow enough to be cautious, gently brushed his tie flat against his chest, and Robert had to repress the urge to put his hand over Andre’s. Instead, he watched lean back in his chair, studying his face appreciatively. 

“There’s the blush I’ve been looking for,” Andre’s voice was hushed, as if he was conscious of being overheard. Self-consciously, Robert rested his hand on his warm cheek. “I’m assuming that’s not from the soda you’re drinking.” 

“Must lawyers consider every possible option?” Robert asked, raising an eyebrow coyly. Andre took in his facial expression with a look of surprised admiration. 

“Next time, you’ll have to let me take you to dinner instead of just drinks,” he said, lifting his glass as if toasting Robert. 

“I think I can pencil you in.” 

***

Despite knowing her file backwards and forwards, and despite knowing that he would have to do this no matter who it was, Edmund still felt apprehensive as he lowered himself into the chair next to Anna Strong’s bedside. She surveyed him carefully, her police instincts on overdrive now that someone she wasn’t familiar with was sitting in front of her, with his badge and gun clearly visible. 

“Do you know who I am?” he asked. 

“You must be Captain Hewlett,” Anna said slowly, moving her lips carefully so she wouldn’t tear the little butterfly stitches that were scattered over her face like a perverse art project. “I’ve always wanted to meet you.” 

She extended a hand, wrapped tightly in a bandage, and he very gently shook it, trying as much as possible to avoid grabbing the wrappings. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she said at his tentative look. “It’s just some bruised knuckles. It’s the other hand you should avoid.” 

He glanced at the other one and blanched; her thumb was in a splint, wrapped up her wrist so she wouldn’t accidentally move it. “I - I can come back and do this later if you aren’t up to it.” 

“No, no, please,” she shifted slightly in her bed, her eyes staying carefully on the needle stuck in her arm. “I would much rather give my statement now before I forget something important.” 

“That’s….admirable,” he said quietly, almost as if he didn’t want her to hear. “The doctors said that you might have to undergo another surgery for your hand.” 

She glanced down at it, as if admonishing it for being injured. “There’s only one way to get out of handcuffs, sir, and that’s to tear the tendon in your thumb.” 

Quickly, he jotted that down on the notepad, trying to suppress his need to tell her he was sorry, even though he hadn’t done anything to her. “I should be turning this investigation over to your own department,” he confessed. “But there are a couple of things I would like to talk to you about before I do.” 

“Like the fact that Bradford sent me in to get snatched?” she asked shrewdly. At his surprised look, she added, “I figured that out about the second Arnold dragged me into the parking lot. I should have had backup.” 

“You should have,” he agreed vehemently, and paused in his rage as a drop of blood slid from her split lip onto her chin. “You’re...you’re bleeding.” He grabbed the bloodstained handkerchief (that he donated from his own pocket, he noticed almost absently) from the tray in front of her and gently pressed it to her chin. “Would you like me to get you something to drink? Some pain medication?” 

“Pain medication will put me to sleep again,” she said carefully, trying not to move her lips. “But I would love some water.” Gently, carefully, she covered his hand with her bandaged one. “I think I can handle this.” 

“Of course,” he replied softly, sliding his hand out from under hers. 

He gently closed the curtain over her section of the room, casting a glance over his shoulder as he went. She was studying the amount of blood on the handkerchief, probably wondering where the offending piece of material came from in the first place. 

“Captain, can I see her?” Brewster looked a wreck, still, somehow, even though his friend had been found. His unruly hair was sticking up in every direction, one section of his beard fluffier than the other. “Is she okay?” 

“You can see her after I take her statement,” Edmund said clearly. “I can’t have you coaching her through it.” 

“She’s my friend, sir,” Brewster argued. “She needs a friend.” 

“Give me twenty minutes,” Edmund wheedled, “and then you can have all the time you need.” 

The anger and frustration melted into something that looked like anguish. “How is she?” he asked. “No one out here will tell me shite.”

Edmund studied the little vending machine. He wanted to get Anna cold water, not the lukewarm copper-tasting travesty that came out of water fountains. “Some bruises and a couple of cracked ribs, but she looks like she’ll recover just fine.” 

“They said she might need another surgery -” 

“On her hand, Brewster, and if she doesn’t agitate it, it’ll heal just fine,” Edmund interrupted. “She’s going to be just fine.” As the bottle of water clattered to the receptacle below, he surveyed Brewster’s face. “Why don’t you and Tallmadge get something to eat, and when you’re done, I’m sure you’ll be able to see her.” 

“Tallboy is going to take Officer Shippen home,” Brewster replied. “She was released just a few minutes ago.” 

“Well, with or without Tallmadge, you need to eat something,” Edmund lectured. “You’ve been running yourself ragged night and day since Anna was taken. Take care of yourself, Brewster, and come back in half an hour.” 

He left him standing in the hallway and eased his way back into Anna’s room, holding the bottle of water carefully. 

***

Mary was just about to go home when Caleb barrelled into her view again, his walk loud and angry. She rose to meet him, her heeled shoes in her hand. “How’s Anna?” she asked. “Is she going to be okay?” 

“Captain won’t let me see her,” Caleb growled. “Something about having to give her statement first.” 

Mary nodded. “If you went in there ranting and raving about Bradford, it would mean that you coaxed her statement, and nothing she said would hold up in court.” Caleb rolled his eyes, and she held up her hands. “Okay, alright, I’m officially retiring my assistant DA advice -” 

“I’m sorry, Mary, I shouldn’t -”

“No, I understand,” she dropped her hand to his wrist for a moment before taking her hand back. “You’re exhausted. You should go rest.” 

“I’m going to go get terrible food from the cafeteria and come back to see Anna,” he replied. “Want to come?” 

“You sure you want that?” she asked tentatively, even as she slid her feet back into her shoes. 

“I’d much rather have you there than be alone,” he shrugged. “Besides, who else is going to stop me from pouring whiskey into my tea?” 

“Caleb Brewster -” she spluttered, aghast.

“See?” he laughed. “You’re already doing a great job.” 

***

“I didn’t know you lived here,” Ben remarked, offering Peggy his arm so she could comfortably get out of his car without stumbling. “Most of us live in apartments on the other side of town.” Her house was a modest townhouse, with a dark green front door and gold handle, but he knew, based on the manicured little sections of grass and luxury cars parked along the street, that they were on the rich side of town. 

“My father bought it for me,” Peggy replied with a grunt, trying to force herself up the steps. “These pain pills are killer.” 

“You’ll be asleep in no time, though,” Ben pointed out. “Just gotta make your legs work until you get to bed.” 

“I should have taken those crutches,” she grumbled as Ben’s arm tightened around her waist. “I’m such an idiot -” 

“Cops are a proud breed,” he laughed. “I don’t mind helping you. But you might want to sleep downstairs so that you can get up without me.” 

Her home was richly decorated, with a vase in the hallway, paintings in frames hanging from the walls. It was a stark difference from his own apartment, with a Borderlands poster stuck onto the living room wall with brightly colored tacks and an overflowing sink with dishes. But he could see bits of Peggy in every room, a pair of blue heels in the corner, a cup of half-drunk coffee resting on the kitchen counter. 

He lowered her gently onto the beige couch. “I’ll go get you some blankets and pillows,” he promised. “Which way is your bedroom?” 

“There’s a linen closet in the hallway,” she pointed to the left. “There should be blankets in there.” 

He settled on a cranberry colored one and the softest two pillows he could find. He fixed one under her leg and the other under her head, gently draping the blanket over her as he watched her slip into sleep. She struggled to keep her eyes open, her long lashes fluttering, but in the end, she succumbed, her brow still furrowed with pain. 

He left her pain meds at the table next to her, along with a glass of water and a bowl of fruit, just in case she woke up hungry. 

He dialed Caleb in the foyer, hoping that Anna was out of surgery, that she was awake, that he could even just sleep next to her bed, so he knew she was safe. But the call went straight to voicemail. He dialed the captain next as he gently shut Peggy’s front door, double checking that it had locked behind him. No one answered. 

Maybe she was still in surgery, he reasoned. As he thought it, his stomach rumbled. He put his hand over it, quieting it. He would get a bite to eat and then he’d go right back to the hospital and sit in the hallway all night if he had to. But first, dinner. 

***

George loved sitting in quiet diners late at night; his security would let him sit in a booth for hours if he wanted while they drank coffee and gossiped, and he was allowed a few moments to think. So many politicians and lobbyists thought they could find him at expensive bars and theatres and operas that he loved indulging this secret place. 

He munched on a piece of apple pie, watching the sky continue in its infinite darkness. 

The jingle of the front door didn’t rouse him from his reverie, and neither did the silhouette of a vaguely familiar person. It wasn’t until he heard someone say his name, softly, that he pulled his eyes away from the sky and toward a face he thought he’d never see again. 

“Ben?” he repeated as the man smiled brightly at him. “Wh - would you like to sit down?” he asked, offering the place in the booth across from him. 

“I wasn’t sure if that was you,” Ben admitted. “I thought for sure I remembered your face wrong.” 

George smiled. “Have you been looking for me?” he asked. He wanted him to say yes; he had been looking for Ben, after all. He went back to that bar every night, hoping that the beautiful stranger that had caught his eye would return. But he hadn’t, until now. 

“I have been pretty busy recently at work,” Ben admitted, settling into the booth across from George carefully. 

“What do you do for a living that’s kept you so busy?” George asked as the waitress swooped in with a cup of coffee for him. 

Ben ordered a burger and fries with a gracious smile at the waitress, who blushed. George didn’t blame her. Despite the bags under his eyes and the slightly upturned collar, Ben was almost breathtakingly good-looking in the dim light of the diner. 

“I’m a homicide detective, actually,” Ben said as he dumped cream into his coffee. “My friend was kidnapped, and we just got her back tonight.” 

“That sounds exciting,” George breathed, leaning forward. “How is she? Is she safe?” 

“She’s in surgery,” Ben said, and the droop of his shoulders told George that he was still worried. “I just took a friend home from the hospital to settle in, so I figured I’d get something to eat before I go back.” 

“You have a lot of friends in the hospital, detective,” George said wryly. “Something I should be worried about?” 

“Not unless you’re a high profile target,” Ben said with a smile. George suppressed a grin. 

“It’s good to know that normal people don’t recognize me,” he remarked, taking another bite of pie. Ben, across from him, surveyed his face more completely. “Do you want to take three guesses?” he asked. “Or do you want me to tell you?” 

The waitress interrupted them one more time to slide Ben’s food in front of him, and George smiled wider as Ben struggled to put the pieces together. 

“To be clear,” George said softly, leaning forward so that Ben would match his posture, “I’m glad that you don’t recognize me. It means that you liked me enough to sit with me despite who I am.” 

“I feel like we should reintroduce ourselves,” Ben stammered, offering George his hand. “Detective Benjamin Tallmadge.” 

George smirked. “George Washington,” he said coyly, releasing Ben’s hand to swipe a fry off his plate. 

“Mayor George Washington?” Ben spluttered. 

George gave him a salute with another of his fries and grinned. “Yes, detective, which means I’m technically your boss, as you are a servant of the city. And my first order of business is for you to eat this food before I do. And perhaps, if you still like my company when you’re done, you’ll let me take you to lunch.” 

***

By the time Edmund was done taking Anna’s statement, Caleb was perched outside her room with Mary Woodhull sitting beside him, a cup of coffee in her hand. Edmund gladly held the curtain open for him and he barrelled inside, offering Anna his hand and then giving her a hug that she shakily returned. 

Edmund tugged the curtain closed and left them to it, content to sit outside and ruminate over what Anna had told him. Bradford was responsible, she was sure of it, but that didn’t mean Arnold didn’t deserve to be punished to the fullest extent of the law. And he would be, he reassured her. 

“I’m surprised that you’re still here, Mrs. Woodhull,” he remarked to the blonde woman, who shrugged. 

“It was either leave or make sure Brewster didn’t interrupt your statement,” she said. “He’s been anxious to see her since he found out she was found.” 

“You and Brewster make a pretty good team,” he said. Mary shifted in her seat. “I - I didn’t mean -”

“Of course not -”

“I only meant, Tallmadge is usually the only one that can get him to behave,” Edmund said with a laugh.

“Perhaps he just needed a woman’s touch,” Mary joked. 

As they spoke, the curtain in front of Anna’s room was wrenched back, and the object of conversation was stomping back toward them, his hand white around his phone. 

“We have to go,” he said to Edmund. “And probably you too,” he said to Mary. 

“Me, why?” 

“There’s been a murder,” Caleb said with a grimace. “Of a cop.”


	7. Murder Number One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have our first murder and the investigation of the crime scene, Anna and Edmund make a bet, and Ben and Washington have their first date - that escalates quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did change some of the tags on this story for the sake of this chapter, so be sure to review those before you read this chapter, just in case there are a couple of things on here that you are not a fan of.

There was so much blood that occasionally, Ben could still hear it drip off the edge of the table, the sound viscous and nauseating. Vice detective Easton, an older man with graying hair at his temples, stared up at the ceiling, unseeing, his mouth slightly open. His face had relaxed in death, but the blood on his face was creased where he must have furrowed his brow in pain before he expired. 

“Detective Tallmadge,” Nathan’s voice, as usual, was soft, soothing, and altogether inappropriate for the disaster they were all staring at. “Can you come down here for a moment?” 

Ben grimaced but stepped carefully around the pool of blood on the floor to crouch beside him. The CSU tech pointed toward the gaping stomach wound with his blue-gloved hand. “See that?” 

Ben had to put a hand gently on his shoulder to steady himself. “What exactly am I supposed to be seeing?” he asked, covering his mouth with his other hand.

Carefully, with the precision of a surgeon, Nathan reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of large tweezers. He used them to clamp around a piece of torn skin and pulled up. “See that texture? A normal knife didn’t do this.” 

Feeling the familiar sensation of bile rising in his throat, Ben quickly straightened up. “What kind of knife do you think did it, then?” he asked. 

Nathan glanced up at him from his position on the ground with concern in his eyes. “A serrated blade, I think,” he said cautiously, as if he was developing his theory as he spoke it. “But a large serrated knife. I’ve never seen a wound like this.” 

Ben turned back to him, his brow furrowed. “Think you can recreate it with a little time?” 

Nathan, who was bent over the body again, shrugged. “We’ll see when we get the body back to the morgue,” he said. “I’ll do my best, but you know me -” 

“No promises,” Ben acknowledged with a nod. “Let me know if you find anything else.” 

“Will do, Detective.” 

Hewlett was still standing in the doorway of the living room. “Easton’s wife says that she came home late from work and found him like this. He was already dead when she got here.” 

“Not dead long,” Caleb jumped in, sliding easily into the conversation. “His body was still warm when she touched him.” He turned to Ben. “Signs of a struggle in the entry, but no blood until the living room.” 

“Any blood on the way out?” Hewlett asked. “Killer had to leave somehow. You don’t just gut someone and leave without blood on you.” He wrinkled his nose, the same almost disapproving facial expression he had whenever he had to talk about things like this; it was almost as if he thought the idea of killing a man was repugnant simply because of the mess it made afterward. 

“CSU found some drops of blood leading out the back door,” Caleb said, pointing his pencil toward the other side of the living room before tucking it back behind his ear. “Door has no fingerprints, and footprints look male.” 

“No discarded weapon?” Hewlett prompted. “Clothes?” 

“I have Officer Lee canvassing the trashcans in a two block radius and knocking on doors,” Caleb replied. “He should be done in the next hour or so.” 

“Detective?” Nathan’s voice wafted over the couch that hid him from Ben’s view. “Captain?” 

“Hale,” Hewlett acknowledged, moving toward the couch, but not around it, closer to the body. Ben followed, standing at his shoulder. 

Nathan was bent over the body, this time Easton’s face. “There’s something in his mouth.” 

***

Anna woke suddenly, like she had been doused with cold water. For a moment, long enough to send her heart rate to dangerous heights, she was sure she was back in the warehouse, with Arnold’s voice floating over to her on a sinister breath. She could still feel the phantom ropes around her wrists, around her legs, shivering with cold. But no, that was impossible, she thought, even as a hand gently pressed on her shoulder, trying to keep her from yanking on her IV. 

“Detective Strong,” Captain Hewlett’s voice was soft, hushed enough that she immediately knew she had made some sort of sound, that people were still sleeping. “Are you alright?” 

She wrenched her eyes open, landing easily on the source of the voice. He was in the same clothes from earlier, sans his jacket and tie. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the top button of his shirt undone. He was disheveled enough that she knew, instinctively, that he had also been asleep. 

“I’m….I’m fine, Captain,” she said quietly. “Just...a nightmare -” she could no longer help herself: “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?” 

“Ahh, yes, well -” he glanced around the empty room, as if checking to make sure no one else was there. Anna mimicked his movement out of habit. “Detective Easton was murdered tonight, and since he was another vice detective -” 

“Easton is dead?” she asked, her voice hushed. “How?” 

“Stabbed,” he said, breaking eye contact, and she understood that he was sugarcoating it a bit for her, out of respect. She didn’t push him. “But since you were in a vulnerable place, and another vice cop, I thought I’d -” 

“I appreciate it,” she replied, even as he continued. 

“I’m sure you would rather have Brewster or Tallmadge here, but I sent them to get some sleep,” he explained in a rush. 

“I don’t mind having you here,” she answered, shifting in her bed so she could sit up straighter. “Is there anything you can tell me about Easton?” 

“I shouldn’t -” 

“Captain Hewlett, I have always wanted to be in homicide,” Anna said, and she could hear the plea in her voice, the desperation to focus on something other than herself and her own injuries. “I can’t do much anyway, there’s no reason why I can’t serve as a good ear for theories.” 

He was looking at her in that peculiar way again, like he wasn’t sure what to make of her, but inevitably, he crumbled. “Fine,” he said, scooting his chair closer to the bed. “Easton’s wife found him in the living room, gutted. Body still warm.” 

“What was Easton’s wife doing coming home so late?” Anna asked, letting her head fall back onto her pillow. “Caroline works in physical therapy; she shouldn’t be out that late.” 

Edmund surveyed her with a half-smile. “That’s exactly what I asked. She said she was out to drinks with her friends.” 

“That’s easily checked,” Anna waved her hand. “What else?” 

“Hale said the knife wound is like nothing he’s ever seen,” Hewlett continued. “Huge rough gashes, lots of ragged skin.” 

“Serrated blade?” 

“Not like any he’s come into contact with before,” Hewlett shrugged. “Blood leading out the back door, and a few footprints, but no fingerprints, no weapon or clothes found yet.” 

“A struggle?” Anna asked. “I’m sure Easton didn’t go down without a fight.” 

“In the entry,” Hewlett agreed. 

“Any sign of forced entry at the front door?” 

“None,” he said, his voice hesitant. “What are you thinking?” 

She leaned forward, carefully untangling her IV from the tray at the edge of her bed. “Easton is not a passive man. If someone came to the door with a huge knife, something big enough to gut him, he wouldn’t just open the door.” 

“You think he knew his attacker?” Hewlett asked, leaning closer to the bed, resting his elbow on the uncomfortable mattress. 

“Maybe,” Anna intoned, using her other hand to pull her long hair over one shoulder. Her hospital gown slipped off of one shoulder, but she ignored it. “I was thinking that maybe Caroline let him in.” 

“Caroline,” Hewlett said simply, disbelievingly. “You think Easton’s wife let in….his killer.” 

“I’m not saying that she did it willingly,” Anna protested. “I’m saying it’s a little suspect that there was no forced entry at the door but there was a struggle past it. And let’s not forget that Caroline managed to find her husband’s body while it was still warm. That’s a small window.” 

“We are looking into her alibi right now,” Hewlett said thoughtfully. “So I suppose we’ll see if your theory is correct.” 

She stuck her less bandaged hand out. “If I’m right, you owe me coffee,” she said, a mischievous glint to her eyes. Hewlett stared at her hand for a moment in the dark before shaking it gently. “And if I’m wrong, I owe you coffee.” 

“Tea,” Hewlett corrected her. 

She waved off the addendum. “What else did you learn?” 

“He had a note in his mouth,” Hewlett said offhandedly. Anna, out of the corner of his eye, sat up straighter. 

“And why didn’t you lead with that?” she asked, exasperated. “What did it say?” 

Hewlett shrugged. “Death to all rebels,” he said. “Whatever that means.” 

***

Despite getting only three hours of sleep, Ben rose early for his lunch date with Mayor Washington. He stared at himself in the mirror for a few moments, trying to decide if he was going to shave or not. Every few moments, his mind would return to George himself. He was going on a date with the mayor - the idea was thrilling in the same breath that it was terrifying. 

He decided against shaving, and left his blond stubble scattered over his jaw and neck; instead, he dressed in his usual work clothes, a pair of slacks and a dress shirt, the top button undone. He left his badge clipped to his belt, and his gun on his hip. He would have to go in right after their date, he rationalized. He wasn’t dressing like this because he didn’t own normal clothes, he was dressing like this because he had to. 

Caleb was still snoring when he slipped out the front door, locking it carefully behind him. 

They met at the mayor’s office at George’s request. The paparazzi, and George’s Republican opponents, were ruthless, and any lunch that involved George sitting across from another man would create rumors that could cripple a possible re-election campaign. It was thrilling, walking into his office, telling the assistant at the front that he had a meeting scheduled with the mayor. 

It was even more exhilarating when he opened the door and George was sitting at his desk, boxes of Chinese food spread over the glossy surface. 

“Benjamin,” George had taken to calling him by his full name; it sent a shiver through Ben every time he did it, “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a little bit of everything. 

Ben took the seat across from him, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to creep over his face. “That is...so cliche,” he teased. 

George smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Ahh, yes, but on a first date, trying to avoid cliche could mean certain disaster.” His eyes lingered on Ben’s neck for a moment and he was suddenly self-conscious about the fact that he had decided not to shave. “So, can I interest you in….General Tso’s chicken, mushu pork, Mongolian beef?” he nudged the little cardboard cartons toward him, each with chopsticks sticking out. 

Ben was full on grinning now, pulling the chicken toward him. George, with a smile, sunk his chopsticks into his own little box of lo mein. “For someone who thinks this is cliche, you sure are smiling a lot, Detective,” he pointed out. 

“Yes, well, despite the cliche,” George raised an eyebrow, “this is...pretty amazing.”

“It’s just Chinese food, Benjamin,” George said, “if it’s this easy to impress you, I fear you’re going to make my job too easy.” 

Ben thought, for a moment, that he was going to choke on his food. The way George spoke about the possibility of more dates, of more opportunities to impress him, bordered on arrogance. But it wasn’t arrogance that Ben saw in George’s eyes. Instead, he saw a sparkling amusement there, an uninhibited happiness that made Ben’s cheeks redden; as if he couldn’t help but let Ben know that he intended to keep seeing him. It was more forward and honest than Ben expected a politician to be. 

But, he found as their conversation flowed genially and comfortably, the persona that George showed to the public was far from the one he exhibited in private. He was stoic, almost stony, in public, and that allowed him to push policies through when he really wanted to. But alone, at least, with Ben, he would smile, his eyes would sparkle. He had no trouble laughing, a full, deep rumble that made Ben want to make him laugh as often as possible. 

“Did you know, Benjamin,” George finally said as their time together came to a close, “that your face goes just a little pink every time I call you by your full name?” 

Unprepared for such a bold statement, Ben cleared his throat. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

George’s foot bumped his own under the table. “Are you sure, Benjamin?” he pressed just slightly on the word, his shoe rising to brush Ben’s ankle. Ben jumped at the contact, and George’s foot immediately, softly, traced a circle just above his ankle intoxicatingly. “Oh dear,” he chuckled, this laugh much more deliberate than the others, “I fear your poker face is slipping, Detective.” 

Was it hot in here? Ben felt warmth creeping up his neck, hot enough that he pulled his collar away from his throat, even though it wasn’t buttoned nearly high enough to restrict his ability to breathe. George’s eyes were still on him, that sly sparkle there. 

“Would you prefer I called you Ben?” George asked, his foot sliding easily up Ben’s leg to his calf. Without thinking, Ben extended his leg farther under the table, offering up more of his leg to be touched. It was so simple, the softest bit of contact, but it was so teasing, so tantalizing, that he let his eyes drift closed for a moment before he registered the question. 

“I - I would prefer -” George’s foot slid just a little higher, to the crook of Ben’s knee, a silent ‘stay focused.’ He sighed. “No, please - call me Benjamin.” 

That seemed to be the right answer; immediately, George’s foot left Ben’s leg, and he was on his feet. Ben, out of pure instinct, followed his lead. Perhaps it was his time to go. He felt disappointment settle in his stomach as George reached for the phone at the edge of his desk. 

“Mr. Townsend?” he asked, his eyes rising to find Ben’s neck and then his face. “Hold my calls.” 

It was enough of an invitation for Ben to come to him, his hands splayed out on the larger man’s chest. George gently leaned down, just a slow tuck of his chin to bring him to Ben’s ear. His hands came to rest on Ben’s waist, one slightly lower, closer to Ben’s hip, and his belt, near his gun. Ben could feel his breathing all but stop as George’s lips stopped by his ear. 

“Benjamin,” Ben was pretty sure his knees were going to buckle at the sound of his deep voice. “How much time do you have before you have to go back to work?” 

Ben’s hands tightened into fists on George’s shirt. “I have…” he exhaled a shuddering breath as George’s nose gently tilted his chin up, exposing more of his neck to him. “I have about half an hour.” 

“Good,” George breathed against his skin, still just far enough from Ben’s skin that he hadn’t kissed any bit of him yet. 

Ben was practically squirming in the man’s gentle but firm grip. George pulled back far enough to smile at him. “Is there something that you want, Benjamin?” He was studying Ben’s face, watching for the reaction his full name gave him. He was immensely pleased when Ben pulled his lower lip into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth. Ben could see George knew what he wanted, what he was aching for, but he still watching him, maddeningly, waiting for him to speak. “Say it, detective.” 

“Please -” he was already so gone, so lost in his voice, that he couldn’t find the words. 

“Do you want me to kiss you, detective?” Very gently, George pushed Ben against the wall, behind his desk. Ben welcomed the sturdy wall and the pressure of George’s body against his, his thigh nestled between his legs. He almost groaned at the contact. Instead, a shuddering gasp left his lips, pulling a pleased chuckle from George. 

“Yes, sir -” Ben finally managed, the sir so quiet he felt George go still as it left his mouth. “Please.” 

He had his eyes closed, so he was surprised by the sudden pressure of George’s lips on his own, possessive, hungry. He moaned, a needy sound at the back of his throat, as George very gently slid his hand onto his cheek, the ends of his fingers just teasing the tender hair at the base of his skull.

Slowly, maddeningly, George shifted his stance, his thigh between Ben’s leg brushing against exactly where he wanted contact. Ben broke the kiss with a gasp so loud that George removed his hand from his hair to gently cover his mouth. 

“Now, now, Benjamin,” he grinned as Ben rolled his hips against George’s thigh at the sound of his name, “you’re going to get us caught.” Even as he chastised him, George slid his other hand from Ben’s hip down to the bulge in his pants. He watched Ben’s eyes flutter closed with just the pressure of his hand. “So enthusiastic,” he whispered, slowly removing his hand from over Ben’s mouth. “So beautiful.” 

He slid his hand up to Ben’s belt, pressing warm kisses to his neck. Ben squirmed against him, his ragged breathing by George’s ear the only hint that he had that Ben was trying desperately to stay quiet. “Please, sir,” he whispered, grinding against George’s thigh, struggling to find friction. 

George slowly pulled his thigh from between Ben’s legs, replacing the pressure with his hand again, gently rubbing over the zipper of Ben’s pants, watching, with his lip between his teeth, Ben’s eyes flutter closed again. “No, my dear Benjamin. We will not rush. We must have patience. No matter how tempting you are,” he pulled his hand away, using it to cup Ben’s face and press a soft, sweet kiss on his reddened lips. “We will do this right.”


End file.
